


A Most Sensible Idea

by HildyJ



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Class Differences, Courtship, Cultural Differences, Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Messing With The Time Line, Misunderstandings, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 76,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HildyJ/pseuds/HildyJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins isn't sure about this. Not one bit. </p><p>Frodo is definitely too young to enter into an arranged marriage with a dwarven king called Thorin Oakenshield. It's a good thing that Bilbo is there to chaperone him through their courtship.</p><p>After all, there's no chance that a fussy hobbit bachelor would ever catch the eye of a king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [A Most Sensible Idea~明智之举~](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3566417) by [hana0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hana0/pseuds/hana0)



It was a most sensible idea. Everyone agreed that it was. Of course, there were some rumblings about it not being right because, what would a nature-loving hobbit do underground? That is to say, even more underground than Hobbits already were and surrounded by stone and gems and other dead things rather than trees and flowers and light. It wasn’t right, said some of the more conservative elders, to force a young, beautiful hobbit like Frodo to spend the rest of his life sitting next to a dwarf king as his consort. To spend the rest of his life in darkness. And weren’t there rumours of this king being very old?

‘157 years old?!’ cried Bilbo, the teapot in his hand still tilted above Fortinbras’s cup. The Thain calmly placed his hand over Bilbo’s arm and gave a small push just in time to save his saucer from certain flooding. The doily next to it was not as lucky, and it was only Bilbo’s reflexes that reduced the damage to a couple of brown spots on the white linen. Even in his consternation, Bilbo would not condemn his great-grandmother Berylla’s handiwork to the collection of dust cloths at the bottom of his closet. Maybe some vinegar would remove these stains…

‘Dwarves age differently than Hobbits, Mr. Baggins’, said Fortinbras. ‘At least that is what I am told. They can live to more than 200 years, and some tell of a female dwarf who reached an age of 302. You can imagine the family gathering at her funeral!’ A short, loud laugh burst out of the Thain at his own humorous observation but Bilbo did not join him. Fortinbras cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, Durin’s Line, of which King Thorin is a descendant, are especially long-lived. So he and Frodo should have a long and happy marriage in front of them.’ Fortinbras took a sip of his tea with the air of a hobbit, who had just pulled a particularly well-shaped carrot out of the ground.

‘A long marriage, maybe, but happy?’ said Bilbo. ‘Frodo is only 32, almost a year away from his coming-of-age, and you want to marry him away to a king nearly five times his age and force him to move away from his family and his friends to the other side of the Misty Mountains?’ Bilbo sat down heavily and tore a piece off of a scone. He held the bread limply in his hand while his mind tried to imagine a Dwarven kingdom several mountains, rivers and forests away from the Shire. Bilbo had only gone as far as Bree, and that was an adventure that still made his heart beat harder, when he thought of his daring to go there alone. It was surely only Yavanna’s favour that shielded him from harm. He sighed. ‘I don’t see why it has to be Frodo, when there are other hobbits available to forge this link with Erebor.’

‘Frodo is from a prominent family, he has no special attachment to any other of the young hobbits, and he is very beautiful. Far more lovely than any of the other available gentle-hobbits in the Shire, and the letter from King Thorin’s advisor did specify that his consort-to-be has to be a male. Apparently, the king has already chosen his heirs in his sister-sons, and now just wants someone to bring him…comfort in his peaceful years.’ Fortinbras helped himself to a third of Bilbo’s excellent scones, and silently debated on whether to make use of the blackberry jam or the raspberry. 

Comfort. Bilbo felt sick. His closest nephew, who he had loved and raised for the last 20 years after his parents died, was now to be carted off to some dwarf to be his glorified lap-dog. Maybe even worse than that. Fortinbras had shown him the letter from Erebor and a very impressive letter it was, too. Thick vellum filled with bold lettering, containing every diplomatic courtesy and flattery, assuring Fortinbras of the sense of such an alliance between the Shire and Erebor. For one had the lush, fertile lands full of crops, greens and livestock while the other had gold and jewels, the beauty of which, even most of the nature-loving hobbits were not immune to. And with the new, safe trade route through the Misty Mountains, there had never been a better time for a closer relationship between the hobbits of the Shire and the dwarves of Erebor.

Bilbo’s tea had grown cold. Setting aside sensible diplomacy, it was still Frodo’s life and body that would form the foundation of this alliance. For who knew what this king’s intentions were? Maybe he especially wanted a hobbit to have a small plaything. A small body with which he could do whatever he wanted. Even in bed…

Bilbo’s hand clenched around his scone, dissolving the fine bread into crumbs on his mother’s porcelain plate. His Frodo, his sweet Frodo, who had spent all day yesterday, exclaiming about the tall rangers he had seen on the East Road and wondering where they were going. His Frodo, who still couldn’t abide mutton stew and would always disappear with his friends when he could smell it from outside the green door of Bag End, but would always show up again in time for dessert, especially if it was strawberry tarts. Would they even know how to make strawberry tarts in Erebor? Did they even have strawberries in that cold mountain?

‘I’m going with him.’ Bilbo’s cup clinked on its saucer and his eyes were wide.

Fortinbras finished off his fourth scone, wiping crumbs from his mouth. ‘Yes, of course you are. We’re not sending an underage hobbit alone to begin his courtship. You will be his chaperone, and will make sure he is never left alone with his intended. The very idea of it! I hope you don’t think that I have no sense of what is right and proper!’

Bilbo felt his body relax, but his heart started thumping in his chest again. He was sure that if he shed his jacket, his waistcoat, his shirt and his undershirt, he would be able to see the shape of that organ moulded against his pale skin. He would have to leave Bag End.

‘It will be no more than a year at the most’, Fortinbras continued, ‘I’m sure King Thorin will marry Frodo soon after his coming-of-age. Once he has seen the lad’s beauty and good nature, I think his Majesty will find it hard to even wait that long.’ The Thain chuckled lightly to himself.

‘And then I will be back in the Shire again.’ Bilbo whispered, hoping to reassure his heart that all would be well again. It didn’t work.

Fortinbras finished his tea, and started gathering his hat and cane. He moved towards the door, and Bilbo followed him.

‘Is that it?’ asked Bilbo, ‘Aren’t you going to stay until Frodo comes home to tell him?’

Fortinbras paused in front of a mirror, arranging his hat on his head and smoothing down his lapels. ‘I think it would be better coming from his uncle and guardian. And do try to give the news a bit of cheer! This is a great opportunity for Frodo! Do you think Drogo and Primula Baggins could ever have imagined their only son as a consort to one of the great kings of Middle-earth?’ Fortinbras turned and smiled at Bilbo.

Bilbo sighed. ‘When do we leave?’

‘I will write a reply to King Thorin’s advisor Balin, informing him of your journey. There’s a trade caravan of dwarves from Ered Luin coming along the East Road in a week, a fortnight at most. They will take you and Frodo to Erebor. If the weather holds and you encounter no unsavoury characters on the road, you will be there in time for the beginning of winter.’

Winter in a cold mountain half a world away. Bilbo shivered, as if the winds from the East had suddenly blown open the door and all the windows into his cosy little home.

Fortinbras clapped his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. ‘It will all be alright in the end, Bilbo’, he smiled. ‘Thank you for the tea.’, and with a twirl of his cane, he was out the door and down the path. Here he passed Frodo with a cheery ‘Hallo!’ and off he went along the lane into the centre of Hobbiton.

Frodo still had a grin on his face, when he turned again to his uncle, but it faded as he saw Bilbo’s weary eyes and crossed arms. Had he done something wrong?


	2. Chapter 2

Bilbo stared at Frodo’s back. The boy had been ignoring him for the better part of the journey, only exchanging the necessary words when they washed the pots and pans from dinner in a nearby river.  
He didn’t blame him, not one bit. It was an unfair thing to have happened to such a young lad. But when he had told his nephew of his future courtship, Bilbo had tried to make the best of it.

‘Think of it as an adventure,’ Bilbo had said, his voice wavering slightly. ‘You’ve never been outside of Hobbiton and now you’re going all the way across the Misty Mountains, through Mirkwood to Erebor, a mighty dwarven kingdom. You’ve always wanted to see more of the world and of other races. You might even get to see the elves.’ Bilbo tempted while mentally making a list of all the things they had to pack and what they had to leave behind. Would they need to buy a third pony as a pack animal…?

‘Uncle Bilbo,’ Frodo whinged as he slumped down on his bed, right on top of a stack of carefully folded shirts, ready for packing. ‘The thing about an adventure is that they’re usually something you WANT to do, and when they’re over, you get to go home. I’ll never see the Shire again!’ He threw his head on his pillow with an air of dramatic resignation.

‘I wouldn’t be so certain. Once you’re married to this King Thorin, he may grant you any number of leniencies. Marriage among the royalty is not the same as marriage among us common folk. As long as you’re his consort to the outside world, you might be able to do what you like in your private life, including making a yearly trip to the Shire.’ Bilbo wasn’t sure who he tried to convince more: Frodo or himself. The prospect of an empty and silent Bag End, when Bilbo returned a year from now, was not something he relished.

‘But he’s so very old!’ cried Frodo. ‘And a dwarf, as well. I’ve seen the dwarves from Ered Luin, and they look like they’re made out of hair and metal and nothing else! Old King Thorin probably has a hunchback and a beard down to his knees. That’s why he’s still unmarried at 157 years!’ He turned his face against the wall.

Bilbo folded the last of the rumpled shirts and deposited them softly into a waiting travelling trunk. ‘Oh, I like that!’ he said, ‘It makes one wonder what Mr. Frodo Baggins really thinks of his favourite uncle, who is still unmarried at the ripe old age of 55. He must think me quite a sorry case, indeed!’ Bilbo tried to force a playful laugh, but the insincerity of it must have been obvious, because Frodo quickly turned around with worried eyes.

‘But you’re different, Uncle Bilbo.’ he said with a small smile ‘You’re a romantic. You wouldn’t marry someone, unless you were certain that they were…the one.’ Frodo sighed. ‘You certainly wouldn’t marry some arthritic dwarf who probably needs reminding to wipe his mouth after every sip of soup. You wouldn’t marry to establish a trade route.’ He grimaced, turned to the wall again, and drew his legs towards his chest.

Bilbo sat down at Frodo’s desk and looked at his nephew. It was at times like these, that he very much reminded Bilbo of the silent 12 year old child; whose hand had suddenly grabbed his own when they had been left alone at his parents’ freshly dug graves after the wake. He had made a promise then, to Drogo, to Primula and most of all to Frodo, to always take care of him and, in time, to love him. Bilbo had only been a few years into adulthood at the time, but having someone to care about other than himself had made him quickly grow up. A romantic? Ha! Bilbo often thought that he went through life more governed by his fears than his ideals.

‘Frodo?’ He placed his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. Frodo wrenched it away from his touch. ‘Frodo’ He said more sternly. ‘You are nearly an adult and it’s time to realise that the world doesn’t revolve around your wants. You have to start doing something for others, and now you have a chance to do something that will benefit the whole of the Shire.’ Frodo crossed his arms over his bent knees. 

Bilbo sighed. That didn’t work. ‘You can always refuse, you know? Not the trip to Erebor, of course. That’s already planned. But when the King comes to you after your coming-of-age and proposes marriage, you can refuse him. Not even Eru can force a match where there isn’t one.’ Bilbo wasn’t certain what would happen to the diplomatic agreement if Frodo did say no. He could only hope that a courtship of nearly a year would change his nephew’s mind. Who knows? This King Thorin might be a charming old rascal, who only wanted a pretty face to sit at his knee and listen attentively to his stories of the old days. At least, Bilbo hoped so. Of all the possible outcomes to this sorry affair, that might be the one that would calm his heart the most.

Frodo did turn around then and looked searchingly at Bilbo’s face. He suddenly smiled. ‘I could even try to be as repulsive as possible during our courtship. I mean, to put him off! Maybe he wouldn’t even bother me with a proposal then!’ His smile became bigger, and he suddenly looked like that little boy, who had filled Hamfast Gamgee’s gardening clogs with freshly-caught herring from the stream. Only, they weren’t so fresh when Mr. Gamgee discovered them a few days later. Even after boiling the things, the smell never left them. The clogs went in the rubbish, and Frodo was not allowed to go near the stream for the next month. But Bilbo had a sneaking suspicion that even though the boy accepted his punishment, the merriment of seeing the gardener’s disgusted face more than made up for it. He had to curtail this naughty streak from making its appearance once more.

‘You will do no such thing, Frodo Baggins.’ He huffed. ‘You will be in Erebor to represent your family, to represent the Shire and most of all, to represent all hobbits. You forget that most of the dwarves there will not have seen a hobbit before. Would you want them to come away with the impression, that we are all small, disgusting creatures who don’t know how to behave ourselves when in the presence of royalty? No, indeed.’ Bilbo stood straighter. ‘And you forget my lad, that I will be chaperoning all your meetings with the king. And don’t think you are too old for a clip round the ear, if I catch you misbehaving.’

Frodo deflated. The hope he had felt a moment before seemed to have vanished. He rose from the bed and started pulling out drawers more roughly than strictly necessary and bundling up clothes to put in his trunk. If his eyes seemed shinier than before, neither he nor Bilbo commented on it. His uncle went to the pantry and started taking stock of what would keep and what should be left for the neighbours to take.

 

X—X

 

‘I wouldn’ let it bother ye.’

Bilbo forced his eyes away from his contemplation of his nephew’s back and faced the dwarf suddenly riding alongside him. It was Bofur, the friendly dwarf with the ridiculous moustache who usually entertained the trade caravan with songs and jokes in the dark evenings around the fire. He was part of a group of miners travelling from Ered Luin to Erebor in search of work. A new vein of gold, wider than the Bruinen, had apparently been discovered in that mountain, and sharp axes and strong bodies were needed to dig it out. Bofur had often sat next to Bilbo during dinner on the road, exclaiming about the vast riches of Erebor, and promising Bilbo an invitation to dinner at his brother Bombur’s home when they finally got there. Bilbo had nodded politely, thanking Bofur with a smile, but secretly thinking that the dwarf will forget all about him, once he reached his own family in Erebor. Bofur’s conversation wasn’t the most exciting for a gentle-hobbit such as Bilbo, but it was vastly preferable to the silence of Frodo sitting next to him.

‘What shouldn’t bother me?’ asked Bilbo.

‘The young ‘uns are always grumpy about somethin’ or other. Best to just let ‘em be, and in a few years you’ll be able to have a proper talk with ‘em again.’ Bofur said with conspiratorial grin.

The corners of Bilbo’s mouth twitched slightly. There was a certain charm to being around Bofur. Everything seemed so easy in his company. The conversation flowed, even when Bilbo wasn’t in the mood to be talkative. The dwarf always picked up the slack, never making a mention of the hobbit’s dull company. So what if his favourite hobbyhorses were always mining, song and bawdy jokes? At least he never surprised you, and Bilbo needed something familiar on this long trip away from Bag End.

‘I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me,’ Bilbo sighed and decided to change the subject. ‘Are you married, Master Bofur?’

‘As I’ve tol’ ye many times, Mr. Baggins, you can jus’ call me plain ol’ Bofur.’ He smiled at Bilbo again. ‘And no, I’ve never been married, me. You have to have gold to keep a spouse in food, shoes, and beads for their beard, and any gold I ever get me hands on, always seems to slip away from me. Right quick, too!’ He laughed so loudly that several of the company’s ponies startled by the sound.

Bofur continued, ‘Maybe I should marry one of you hobbits. Why, you seem to need neither shoes nor pretty beads for your hair.’ He didn’t laugh this time, but seemed to look at Bilbo for a touch too long before facing forwards once more.

Bilbo ignored the look and said, ‘Yes, but what you save in shoes and trinkets will be more than spent in keeping your hobbit spouse well fed! I know you don’t believe me about a hobbit’s appetite, but we will share a proper meal when we reach Erebor, and then I will show what a hobbit is made off when it comes to food!’ Bilbo grinned. It felt good to be a bit silly. He hadn’t allowed himself to fully relax around strangers for a long time.

‘I’ll look forward to it.’, Bofur said with a soft look in his eyes.

Bilbo turned towards the view of the lonely mountain in front of them. ‘Is it very far now, do you think?’ The winds had turned colder during the last week, and it was becoming more common to wake up to the sight of plants frosted white all around you. Bilbo’s body ached both from the movements of his pony and the cold nights when the fire had gone out. Even Bofur’s fur coat, which the dwarf had almost had to force on him, seemed insufficient to keep Bilbo’s small, soft body warm.

‘No more than two days’ travel, I should think.’ Bofur gestured towards a dwarf at the head of the company, his jewel-encrusted cloak shining in the autumn sunshine. ‘Gloin’s already sent a raven to Erebor, informin’ them of our arrival. King Thorin’ll have a grand party planned for the arrival of his intended. Indeed, I think the whole mountain will rumble with all the celebration. Most dwarves never thought that the day would come, when his Majesty showed he had urges, same as any other dwarf.’

Urges. The word unsettled Bilbo. ‘Is King Thorin a cold dwarf?’

‘I wouldn’ call ‘im cold. Wouldn’ call ‘im warm, neither. Wouldn’ call ‘im anything, as a matter o’ fact. The King is never spoken of much because there’s nothing much to say. And that makes him singular in the line o’ rulers as far back as most dwarves can care to remember.’ Bofur finished with a firm nod.

Bilbo felt none the wiser about this dwarf who would shape the future of his darling nephew. The cold wind went around his face and he started to sniffle. His hand went to his pocket, drawing out his favourite handkerchief. It was given to him by his parents on his coming-of-age, and showed his mother’s handiwork beautifully: a green border with leaves – the same green as the door to his home – on white linen with a big, warm reddish-brown B in the middle. B for Bilbo Baggins. B for Bungo and Belladonna. B for Bag End.

Bilbo raised his head and looked at Erebor once more. Two more days. Then a year. Then home.


	3. Chapter 3

Erebor was big. Too big, if you asked Bilbo. Even though you couldn’t walk three steps without passing a torch on the wall, the darkness seemed to swell upwards in the great entry hall, making it impossible to gauge just how high the ceilings were. The stone walls loomed over Bilbo and Frodo, and they were cold to the touch. The hobbits shuddered. It seemed even colder inside the mountain than it had been outside the great doors.

The trade caravan seemed to dissolve, almost as soon as the gates shut out the daylight behind them. All around Bilbo and Frodo dwarves embraced and knocked heads with their relatives and friends, while servants led ponies away and started emptying the carriages. Bilbo looked at Bofur beside him.

‘Is your family not coming to greet you?’ Bilbo asked. 

Bofur shook his head. ‘No, Bombur will be workin’ in castle kitchens at this time o’ the day. I don’t think he’ll have had a spot of rest for the whole of last week, what with all the preparations for the King’s feast to welcome Frodo.’ Bofur nodded towards the younger hobbit, who was busy gawping at all the activity going on around them. ‘And my cousin Bifur…Well, he’s not quite all there. I wouldn’ be surprised if he’s forgot all abou’ my arrival!’ Bofur laughed.

Bilbo smiled politely, even though the gentle-hobbit felt wrong laughing at some poor fellow’s shortcomings. He started to look around for a place to leave their ponies, when his train of thought was interrupted by a gruff voice beside him.

‘Are you the hobbits?’

Bilbo turned in his saddle and let his gaze drop. Only it didn’t need to fall very far, for next to Bilbo’s pony stood one of the largest dwarves he had ever seen. Broad shoulders, too, and a bald head covered in tattoos. Bilbo had only once before seen a tattoo. It was on that ill-fated journey to Bree, when a man had dropped into the seat next to Bilbo in The Prancing Pony. ‘D’ya wanna see m’ tattoo’, he’d slurred and Bilbo had been too frightened to refuse. The tattoo had been of a naked woman embracing and kissing a snake. When Bilbo had seen where the snake’s tail was on the woman’s body, he had quickly finished his half-pint and hurried out the door. This dwarf’s tattoos were thankfully more seemly than that.

Bofur noticed Bilbo’s stunned silence, and quickly drew the strange dwarf’s attention, ‘Well, of course they’re the hobbits! What did you think they were? Dwarves wearing foot-shaped shoes? Elven children? Maybe he thought you were fairies from a story book, Mr. Baggins!’ Bofur nudged Bilbo in the side, inviting him to join in the merriment at this large dwarf’s expense. But Bilbo noticed the other dwarf’s hands tightening into fists under his knuckle dusters, and gathered his wits from where they had flown.

‘Yes, we are the hobbits, sir.’ He slid off his pony as elegantly as his aching body allowed and bowed deeply to the imposing dwarf. ‘I am Bilbo Baggins, at your service, and this is my nephew Frodo Baggins.’ He gestured towards his nephew and the dwarf’s gaze snapped to the younger hobbit. Frodo’s eyes widened at suddenly being the object of such a penetrating stare, and he started picking at his fingers nervously.

‘Dwalin’, the large dwarf rumbled, leaving Bilbo in doubt as to whether that was his name or a particular dwarven greeting. The strange dwarf moved towards Frodo. He put his wide hands around the lad’s waist and lifted him off the pony, as if he weighed no more than a leaf. After he put the boy on the ground, he turned around. 

‘Follow me.’ and off he went, expecting to be obeyed without question.

Bofur grabbed Bilbo’s hand, and looked into his eyes. ‘Look for me, when you’ve finished with your official chaperonin’ duties. Ask for my brother Bombur in the kitchen, and he’ll know where to find me. Remember, that’s Bombur.’ He gave Bilbo’s hand a squeeze and smiled at him.

Bilbo returned the smile tremulously and turned to hurry after the large dwarf, taking hold of Frodo’s shoulder on the way.

The walk seemed to stretch on for miles, twisting and turning through various passageways and paths which all looked like the one before. The large dwarf wasn’t very good company, silently marching ahead of the two hobbits, who almost stumbled on their otherwise nimble feet in an effort to keep pace with their leader.

They passed several dwarves, some of whom turned around to stare after the foreigners. Bilbo noticed that some of them lingered especially long on Frodo, their eyes making a sweep from his dark, curly hair and blue eyes, down his slight, pale body and rested on his large feet. They must find him exotic-looking, thought Bilbo, though they really should mind their manners and not stare at young hobbits so openly. He tut-tutted internally.

At last, they reached their destination. A large red door loomed in front of them. The dwarf opened it and gestured with a quick hand.

‘Wait in there.’

The hobbits bustled in and the door closed behind them. They were alone.

Bilbo took the time to look around. The room was large, of course, but it had a more hospitable quality than anything else he had seen in Erebor so far. A heavy desk of dark wood filled with parchment and books dominated the room. A fire was lit in the far corner, and Bilbo was sorely tempted to cuddle up in the soft chair next to it. He badly needed to get some warmth and comfort into his aching body again. Next to the fireplace were several book cases with more volumes than he could count. Bilbo could almost smell the aged pages from where he stood. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had missed this. He only hoped that the dwarves were in possession of books written in the Common Speech, as well. Otherwise he wouldn’t know what to do with his evenings this winter, if he didn’t have books to read. His own collection had been sadly too heavy to pack.

Frodo didn’t have his uncle’s sense of propriety and threw himself into the stuffed chair, reaching his hands towards the flames to warm them.

‘Well, here we are at last’, Bilbo said, affecting a cheerful tone. ‘It’s good to get warm, isn’t it?’

‘Hmm.’ Frodo kept his gaze fixed on the fireplace.

Bilbo walked in a semi-circle around the room, looking at portraits of impressive dwarves covering the wall, the length of the beards and the intricacy of the braiding seeming to grow with each successive dwarf. Were these the kings of old? Was there a painting of King Thorin in here? Though none of these dwarves wore a crown in their portraits… 

‘You can stop it now, you know’, Frodo suddenly spoke.

Bilbo turned to face him. ‘Stop what?’

‘Pretending to be satisfied with all this’, making a vague gesture with his hand at the room surrounding them. ‘I know you don’t want to be here anymore than I do.’

‘I…’

‘Only I wish you would be honest with me. I’m nearly 33, you know!’ Frodo vaulted out of the chair and moved towards Bilbo.

Bilbo met him in the centre of the room. ‘You’ve been moping and sulking for this entire trip’, he said. ‘You’ve said more words to me these last 30 seconds than you have during the last month!’ Bilbo’s hackles were up. ‘You’ve been acting like a child, and then you turn around and complain when I treat you like one!’

‘I just want you to share your worries with me!’

‘I have no worries!’

‘Tell that to your handkerchief!’

‘…’

‘…’

‘What?’ Bilbo blinked rapidly and his hand went to his jacket pocket.

‘I saw you, you know. Sitting up late at night by the last embers of the campfire, when all the rest of the company were sleeping. You were stroking, folding and then stroking your handkerchief again and again. The sun was lighting the horizon before you went to lie down.’ Frodo sighed, all the fight gone out of him.

‘I miss our talks’, he continued. ‘I miss the way you gently tease me about my friendship with Sam, I miss the way you try to bring my hair into order each morning, and I miss gardening with you on a breezy summer’s day.’ Frodo rubbed his neck and looked away.

‘I miss you, Uncle Bilbo.’

Now what was an affectionate hobbit such as Bilbo Baggins supposed to say to a speech such as this? Bilbo felt his eyes itching, but ignored them in favour of slinging his arms around his closest companion of the last twenty years. Even though they were of similar height, Frodo hunched his back and snuggled his face against his uncle’s dusty travelling clothes. Bilbo sniffed quietly and tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes against Frodo’s unruly hair.

Frodo pulled away. ‘Are you crying, Uncle Bilbo?’

‘No, of course not. It must be the dust. That or I’m allergic to dwarf.’ Bilbo’s lips quirked slightly.

Frodo laughed then. Quietly at first and then more loudly, when his uncle joined in. Soon they were bent double guffawing loudly. Laughter seemed to beget more laughter until the original witticism was quite forgotten. It was a better restorative than any glass of port, cup of tea or warm bed. Getting their breath back and wiping their eyes, they were interrupted by a calm, authoritative voice.

‘Welcome to Erebor.’

The hobbits turned to the door and there he stood. For it was undoubtedly his Majesty King Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. With his noble bearing, long white beard, deep red coat, jewelled belt and proud stature, it could be none other than a ruler. Bilbo bowed low, nudging his nephew to do the same.

‘Your Majesty, I am Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, at your service. This is my nephew and ward, Frodo Baggins.’

‘At your service’, Frodo mumbled.

Bilbo glanced up. Well… It could be worse, he thought. Though this dwarf was old, he didn’t have a hunchback, or soup stains down his waistcoat, or long bony fingers, or any of the other “horrors” Frodo had imagined of his future husband. His eyes twinkled and he seemed to have permanent laugh lines. Yes, Bilbo thought, Frodo could definitely do a lot worse.

The dwarf chuckled. ‘Oh, I am sorry. I did not introduce myself properly. I am Balin, chief advisor to King Thorin, at your service.’ He returned their bows with a slight inclination of his head.

Bilbo stood back up, huffing slightly. This was getting tiresome. How many more dwarves were they expected to meet before seeing the king? The fact that he was not there already to welcome his long-awaited intended was beginning to niggle at Bilbo’s hobbit pride.

Balin gestured towards the seats around the fire with a friendly smile. He sat in the one facing the door, while Bilbo sat primly in the chair in front of him. Frodo slouched next to his uncle.

The dwarf studied Frodo intently. The boy noticed his gaze and started fidgeting, until Balin turned his attention to Bilbo.

‘Did my brother Dwalin give you a proper reception?’

Bilbo floundered, trying to find the right diplomatic words without outright lying. ‘He was most…forthright in his welcome’. He smiled politely.

Balin’s lips twitched. ‘You mean, he all but picked you up by your braces and deposited you in this room while speaking no more than five words? I know my brother, Master Baggins. He is not the most sociable of dwarves, but the King and I were unfortunately called away and I knew Dwalin would take care of you and not offend you too grievously in the process.’

‘But where is the King now?’ Frodo suddenly spoke, his cheeks flaming when the old dwarf turned to him.

‘Impatient, are we?’ Balin smiled gently and turned to Bilbo again. ‘His Majesty has asked me to beg forgiveness for his late arrival. I’m sure, you understand that nothing but the most urgent of business could have kept him away from such important’, he glanced at Frodo, ‘and lovely guests.’ The young hobbit tried to hide his face against his shoulder.

Bilbo sighed. Diplomatic frippery, it may be, but it was nice to sit in soft chair, near a warm fire, and be treated as a gentle-hobbit once more. When not performing his duties as a chaperone, Bilbo might seek out Balin for some stimulating conversation. Maybe even ask to borrow one of his books.

Balin continued, ‘Now, I’m sure my oaf of a brother never asked for tea to be brought to you. Let me just see if I can find a servant in the hall.’ He rose and moved towards the door, but was intercepted in his mission by it opening in front of him.

‘Your Majesty.’ When Bilbo heard Balin’s voice, he pricked up his ears. Grabbing Frodo’s hand, he made to move around their chairs to give King Thorin the same greeting that was rather wasted on Balin earlier. He only hoped Frodo would fake his enthusiasm a little better than the first time.

He looked up at his nephew’s intended.

Oh. Oh my.

‘So,’ came a deep voice, ‘these are the hobbits.’


	4. Chapter 4

The idea of a dwarf of 157 years had conjured up many images in Bilbo’s mind during his long journey to Erebor. He thought of white hair, slumped shoulders, watery eyes, a slow, hesitant walk and a face filled with the wrinkles of a century and a half.

Somehow clear, blue eyes never entered into his imaginings. Nor thick, dark hair. Not even wide shoulders and strong, capable hands. This was the King? Bilbo felt a tingle in the palms of his hands and he quickly licked his dry lips.

King Thorin’s gaze flickered shortly over Bilbo before coming to rest on Frodo. The lad flushed slightly but kept his head up by sheer force of will and returned his Majesty’s stare. Bilbo would have been proud of his nephew’s strength of spirit, if he hadn’t been so discomfited by the appearance of the King.

Balin moved forwards, addressing King Thorin. ‘May I present Frodo Baggins of the Shire,’ making a grand sweep of his hand towards the boy. ‘And his uncle and companion, Bilbo Baggins.’ Bilbo pretended not to notice that his own introduction was done with a lot less ceremony than his nephew’s. He bowed deeply once again, Frodo following his example soon after.

King Thorin granted his guests a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He gave a slight inclination of the head before turning to Balin, ‘Have we arranged accommodation for Master Baggins before he leaves with the jewel smiths?’

Jewel smiths? Bilbo felt his mind whirring. What was the King talking about?

‘Yes, your Majesty,’ answered Balin. ‘He will be able to stay in Master Frodo’s chambers. There is more than one bedroom in the western suites. And the company doesn’t leave for Ered Luin until after Durin’s Day. So Master Baggins will be able to celebrate his nephew’s arrival in Erebor before he goes home.’ The advisor gave the two hobbits a benevolent smile.

Frodo grabbed Bilbo’s hand and squeezed it so hard, that he thought he could hear his bones crack. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

Thorin moved towards the fire and stood with his back to the room. Balin ignored his silence and addressed the hobbits, ‘Do you keep Durin’s Day in the Shire? It’s quite an occasion in Erebor. We’ve been storing for winter for months, and we celebrate the beginning of that harsh season with a grand feast. There will be songs, dancing and definitely some drinking!’ Balin chuckled. ‘I’m glad you will be able experience a dwarven celebration before you go.’

Bilbo was speechless. 

‘Of course, we would be honoured if you would return to attend your nephew’s wedding in a year,’ Balin continued. ‘Though we are aware it’s a long and arduous journey for a person of your…stature.’

Thorin turned around. ‘Yes, thank you, Master Hobbit, for delivering my intended safely to Erebor. We appreciate your care and sense of duty towards your ward during your travels.’ The King nodded briskly, and went to the door.

‘Balin, will you show our guests to their rooms? I have to return to my duties.’

Frodo moved closer to Bilbo, linking their arms. Bilbo looked at his nephew, noticing his wide, frightened eyes.

His heart kept beating ever harder, and suddenly he couldn’t stop himself. The words seemed to burst out of him.

‘What about MY duties?!’

The King paused with his hand on the handle of the door. Balin looked between the two of them with a nervous smile.

His Majesty King Thorin turned around and faced Bilbo Baggins, gentle-hobbit of the Shire. The King’s eyes seemed to drill into the hobbit’s, and Bilbo no longer found them a beautiful blue like the starflowers scattered in the back garden of Bag End. No, they reminded him of a frosty winter’s sky, like the one during The Fell Winter when Bilbo was just a child. The kind of blue that seemed ready to splinter into shards of ice at the touch of a hand. Bilbo trembled.

‘What duties?’ The King’s voice seemed, if possible, even lower than before.

Bilbo tried to calm his heart and rallied his courage. This was about Frodo.

‘My duties to my nephew.’ he said. ‘I cannot leave an under-age hobbit alone in a cold mountain. I cannot allow him to enter into a courtship without having a proper chaperone. I cannot leave him in the company of dwarves with no proper guidance. I cannot!’ His voice rose steadily in volume as his nerves overtook his anger. Frodo squeezed his hand again and Bilbo felt grounded to reality once more.

King Thorin clenched his jaw. ‘I wonder what…ideas you have of us dwarves. Do you think we carry off hobbit-children into our lair to have our way with them? That we devour the bodies once we’ve had our “fun”? Or maybe you only think that of me?’ He turned to his advisor. ‘Balin, what stories have you sent about your monarch to the Shire? This fussy little thing seems to think me worse than a dragon and a necromancer put together.’ His voice was quiet though that fact did nothing to ease Bilbo’s beating heart. Only the strong and the dangerous can allow themselves to be calm.

The King advanced towards the hobbits, and Bilbo tried to shield his nephew with his body. His Majesty continued, speaking even more slowly. ‘This kingdom has stood for thousands of years. The line of Durin has governed it in all those years. As a king I am surrounded by several respectable dwarves, whose families stretch just as far back. They are all capable to serve as a chaperone during my courtship. Frodo,’ he glanced at the boy ‘will be marrying into the mightiest kingdom that ever was or ever will be. He will spend the rest of his life among dwarves. He will share in the strength of the dwarves. Therefore our courtship should be dwarvish, not…hobbit-ish.’ He finished with a sneer.

Bilbo had never felt such anger before in his life. This was the dwarf with whom he was supposed to leave his favourite nephew? Oh, he would have words to share with Fortinbras once they had returned to the Shire.

‘Right! Thank you for your short hospitality, then. Come, Frodo!’. He grabbed his nephew’s hand and hurried to the door. Frodo followed quickly. Maybe they could travel to Dale and stay there while he tried to arrange for their journey home. If only he knew where their ponies had got to…

‘Wait, Master Baggins!’ Balin put his hand on his shoulder. He looked worried. ‘Please, wait. It’s getting dark now, and the wolves are coming down from the mountain in this cold. I cannot let two hobbits, unaccustomed to this climate, walk down the mountain alone. I really can’t!’ His tone seemed to become more desperate.

‘The fires have already been lit in your rooms,’ he continued. ‘Even if you are…unsure about this courtship, you must at least stay until tomorrow. I would like to formally invite the both of you to our Durin’s Day celebration as my personal guests. You cannot leave Erebor on the eve of Durin’s Day. I’m sure there’s some old law against it!’ He smiled, deepening his already prominent laugh lines. Bilbo thought that such a winning smile could surely sell dead leaves to wood elves. Bungo’s politeness warred with Belladonna’s indignation inside Bilbo, but he already knew which would emerge victorious.

He nodded shortly. The hobbits waited by the door, while Balin went to King Thorin who had moved back to the fireplace. There was a short urgent whispering between the two, Balin being more animated while the King responded mostly with reluctant nods. Bilbo thought he heard the words ‘diplomatic’, ‘hobbits’, and ‘propriety’, but he wasn’t sure.

Balin returned to his guests while the King stayed put. 

‘Please allow me to escort you to your chambers, Master Baggins and Master Frodo.’ He bowed his head and went out the door. The hobbits followed. Bilbo glanced back at King Thorin. All at once his Majesty’s shoulders seemed to slump and he sagged into the soft chair. Bilbo’s last view, before the door shut, was of King Thorin’s downturned profile lit gold from the light of the fire. His eyes were closed. 

Bilbo turned around to follow Balin and Frodo, though his thoughts stayed with that quiet king in that enormous office. 

The hallways all looked the same, though Balin seemed to know exactly where he was going. Bilbo thought that you would need either the sun or the stars to navigate in this mountain. But, he sighed out loud, neither could be seen inside this hollowed out rock. The feet of the hobbits slapped against the polished floor, and the sound echoed throughout the grand space. 

Balin stopped in front of a nondescript door. ‘Here we are.’ He smiled. ‘I hope you will enjoy your stay, whether it be short or long.’ He gave Bilbo a significant look.

Frodo opened the door and went in. Bilbo made to follow, but Balin’s hand on his wrist stopped him. ‘A word, Master Baggins?’ The advisor shut the door with his other hand.

Bilbo turned to the dwarf and crossed his arms. Balin drew in a deep breath and let it out. ‘Please forgive his Majesty.’ He held eye contact with Bilbo. ‘He has been overburdened by work this last year, and this forthcoming courtship has…unsettled him.’ Bilbo started to speak but Balin quickly cut him off. ‘The King is, of course, enthusiastic about his future partner! Frodo is a lovely lad, and I am sure it was only King Thorin’s…ardour about this match that made him speak out of turn.’

Bilbo was not convinced. ‘It was all arranged, though.’ He said. ‘I was to be booted out of the mountain as soon as Frodo had unpacked his bags.’

Balin cleared his throat. ‘The letter was not clear,’ he said irritably. ‘Your ruler, Fortinbras Took, wrote mostly of your nephew’s beauty, charm and good nature. Your name was mentioned at the bottom of the last page, and you were only described as a “companion” to Frodo Baggins. We naturally thought he meant travelling companion and that you would leave soon after delivering your charge.’

Bilbo rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day and he could feel a headache coming on. ‘Let me make this absolutely clear, then: I will not go and leave Frodo in Erebor. If there is to be a courtship, I will attend all meetings between King Thorin and my nephew. When Frodo has come of age, the King may propose marriage to him. His Majesty will accept whatever answer Frodo gives him. He will not badger, threaten or bribe my boy into doing anything he does not want to do. And all of the above is only relevant, if Frodo Baggins of the Shire chooses to accept his Majesty King Thorin’s offer of courtship. Is that all understood?’ Bilbo was done for today, done with bumpy ponies, done with smooth advisors, done with brutish kings, and definitely done with silly Baggins courtesy.

The dwarf pressed his lips together. ‘Yes, that is understood. I will inform his Majesty.’ He nodded his head at Bilbo and left.

Bilbo sighed. He felt like he had spent two whole days tilling the gardens of Bag End. His body ached, his clothes were dusty and his mind found it difficult to hold two thoughts together. He went into the chambers he was to share with Frodo.

The boy looked up from his unpacking at the sound of the door opening. His eyes were wary as he looked at his uncle. ‘What did he want?’

‘Master Balin and I had some words about you and the King and whatever was to happen here in Erebor between you two.’ Bilbo hesitated, his earlier bravado seeping from him. ‘What did you think of King Thorin?’ he asked.

‘Not as old as I was expecting, very grumpy,’ Frodo stopped to think, ‘and a big nose!’ He chuckled.

An image of that noble profile in front of the fire flashed in Bilbo’s head. ‘Is that all you have to say about a king of dwarves wanting to court you?’

‘Well, I don’t know him, Uncle Bilbo. The first time I met Sam, I thought he was a bit, you know, simple…It was only later that I found out that he was honest, loyal and kind. And makes the best conkers this side of the Brandywine River!’ Frodo smiled in recollection. ‘Even when I first moved in with you, Uncle Bilbo, I thought you were a boring fusspot, obsessed with your doilies. Later, of course, I found out the truth: that you’re a boring fusspot, obsessed with your _handkerchiefs!_ ’ Frodo grinned at his uncle.

Bilbo gave his nephew a playful slap on his upper arm. ‘Insolent puppy! I shouldn’t have taken you in all those years ago. I should have left you to the wolves! Or maybe to…Lobelia?’ Bilbo raised his eyebrows at Frodo.

‘Oh please, rather the wolves than Lobelia!’ Frodo rolled his eyes dramatically and feigned a faint down into the nearest chair. Bilbo joined him.

The two hobbits shared a short chuckle, though Bilbo soon turned serious again.

‘But, Frodo, do you want to stay here and start a courtship? It’s alright if you don’t!’ Bilbo quickly added.

The boy hesitated. He spoke slowly, ‘I don’t know.’ He turned his eyes towards the fireplace in the corner of the main room. ‘I DO want to stay for the celebration. It must be a big party, even bigger than that Midsummer’s Feast three years ago when six couples got engaged, do you remember?’

Bilbo did indeed remember that night. It would have been seven couples, if Bilbo had accepted Adalgrim Took’s proposal the day before. Why didn’t he? What had been wrong with Adalgrim? Nothing, really, only that he wasn’t _right_.

Frodo stretched in his seat and looked over Bilbo’s shoulder. ‘At least we have a window.’

Bilbo stood up and turned. He walked to the opening in the stone wall. The shutters were open and he could feel the breeze on his face. The stars were out, and when Bilbo leaned out of his window, he could see the Burning Briar to the North. He faced ahead. That must be west, he thought then. He could just make out the white tops of the Misty Mountains, but his thoughts moved further than his eyes could see. Over those mountains, across the Bruinen, through the Old Forest and then…

Bilbo turned again to his nephew. Frodo smiled at his uncle, and made no mention of Bilbo’s right hand which pulled his favourite handkerchief from his pocket. The cold wind must have made his eyes water. Yes, that was definitely it.


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo placed his hand over his cup and shook his head, when the dwarf next to him offered him the pitcher of ale again. He had definitely had too much to drink, and this dwarven stuff was stronger than anything he had ever tasted in the Shire.

His head felt slightly heavy. He looked around slowly in the great hall. Frodo had been right. They had never seen a larger party in their lives. Durin’s Day must be something special, indeed. Gold and jewels glinted all around him, covering the multitude of dwarves benched along the tables laden with more food and drink than Bilbo had ever seen his life. And he was a hobbit, remember. His pantry and wine cellar was thought to be the biggest in all of Hobbiton, though Lobelia Sackville-Baggins disputed that claim. She was sure that _her_ cellar could at least hold five more barrels of wine than Bilbo’s. And a better quality of wine, too.

As special guests of the senior advisor to the King, Frodo and Bilbo was placed at the top tables. Not the head table, of course. That was reserved for King Thorin and those closest to him, including his family. Bilbo studied the royal dwarves. 

The King was in the middle, of course, wearing an ostentatious crown which looked so heavy, the sight of it gave Bilbo a sympathy pain in his neck. On the King’s right side was his sister, Lady Dís. Balin had said that after her husband’s death she had travelled to Erebor from the Iron Mountains only accompanied by her two dwarfling sons. She wore a single warg tooth in a mithril setting, dangling from the braid in the middle of her beard. She had apparently never mentioned how she got it, but all of Erebor was convinced she had felled the beast with her bare hands to protect her sons. Such was the fierce reputation of Lady Dís.

King Thorin’s sister-sons sat on his other side. They were both nice-looking dwarves, though they looked a bit young to Bilbo’s eyes. But, he thought sourly, given the peculiar life span of the dwarven race, they were probably four times his own age! They whispered between each other, seeming content in their own company. Bilbo couldn’t blame them. If he had had to sit next to _his Majesty_ , he would have rather stuck forks into his hands than converse with that great lump of a King. Frodo was right; that nose was definitely too big!

He took a sip from his glass, which seemed to have filled as if by magic. Frodo was next to him, looking at the musicians in the centre of the room, slapping his hand on the table in time to the jaunty jig they were playing. Bilbo closed his eyes and relaxed, letting the easy tune rock his body slightly. 

Suddenly the melody slowed, and a familiar voice went up in song alongside the music, singing about Durin, and green mountains, and a crown of stars. Bilbo opened his eyes. It was Bofur! Bilbo smiled lazily, looking at the friendly dwarf singing and acting out the words of the song. It was quite a pretty song, Bilbo thought, though he didn’t catch all the words. Maybe he should ask Bofur about it later. The dwarf flapped the ears of his ridiculous hat and winked at Bilbo. The hobbit grinned in response and applauded the loudest when the song ended. 

As the musicians were receiving the adoration of the crowd, Bilbo’s eyes roamed the hall and were suddenly met by a pair of blue ones. The King was looking at him, though his gaze soon flicked back to the musicians. He glanced between Bilbo and them once more, before turning to his sister and speaking something in her ear. She looked towards Bilbo and Frodo, and nodded her head.

If Bilbo’s mind hadn’t been so lethargic with food and drink, he might have made something of all this. Probably some dwarvish secrets, he thought and took another mouthful from his cup.

After the musicians’ performance, the room seemed to relax. Dwarves stood from their assigned tables and started mixing among each other. Bilbo felt a tap on his shoulder. Bofur’s grinning face met him when he turned around.

‘I found ye!’ Bofur had to raise his voice to be heard over the din of the crowd.

Bilbo smiled at him. His head felt wonderfully fuzzy. ‘Yes, you did.’

‘Do ye wan’ to come have a drink wi’ me and me friends?’

‘Well…’ Bilbo hesitated, suddenly remembering his nephew beside him. Frodo would have none of it and nudged him in the side.

‘Go on, Uncle Bilbo. I’ll be alright.’ He gestured out at the hall. ‘I’ll just stay here and watch the dancing.’

Bilbo stood to follow Bofur, but something kept him back.

‘You _will_ stay right here, won’t you?’ he asked.

Frodo nodded and smiled. ‘Promise. Now, go have fun!’

Bofur’s friends were dressed a lot less finely than the dwarves Bilbo had been sitting amongst. Their hands were rough when they handed him a cup of freshly-tapped ale and their braids were held together with simple iron beads engraved with a little Khuzdul; not a jewel in sight. They were mostly miners who Bofur had met after his arrival in Erebor.

‘Did you get any work, then?’ Bilbo spoke into Bofur’s ear to be heard.

‘Aye, they’ll need plenty o’ hands to dig out that gold. I heard tell that the King’s already sent word to the Iron Mountains to send ‘im whatever workers they can spare.’ Bofur took a sip from his cup. ‘Ye should see it, Mr. Baggins. The ore goes down and down, we don’ know how far. And when you hold up your torch to the rock, it shines through. Not a grand shimmer, like a polished diamond, but warm and comfortin’, nonetheless.’ Bofur’s voice had gone quiet, and Bilbo had to lean into him to hear the words, though they meant little to him. Being a hobbit, he had never thought much of gold or deep, dark caves. He couldn’t see how a cold metal could be “comforting”. But he chose to believe his friend when he said it.

Bofur glanced at his companion and seemed to gather himself. ‘How did it go with the King?’ He asked. ‘I wondered that he didn’ announce his courtship to the gatherin’ before the desserts were brough’ out.’

Bilbo sighed. He had tried to forget that yesterday had ever happened. He prided himself on his natural reserve and sense of decorum. He was not the kind of hobbit to shout at a great dwarven king and then lecture this king’s advisor on good manners.

‘Not very well.’ He answered. ‘It seems the King and I have different ideas of what makes a proper courtship. And his Majesty is a difficult dwarf to talk with.’

‘Uh huh. And what did Mr. Frodo think?’

‘Frodo?’ Bilbo was still affected by the many drinks he had partaken in during the evening, and his mind seemed to stumble where it once would have run.

‘Well, it’s him, and not you, who’s to be married, right?’ Bofur grinned cheekily.

Bilbo felt warm. No, he wasn’t to marry the King; wasn’t to marry anybody, really. He was suddenly annoyed with Bofur and his stupid hat.

‘Well, I am the chaperone! I have to chaperone Frodo! That’s all. That’s my job and nothing else!’ He threw his arm out in front of him and almost stumbled into Bofur in his agitation.

The dwarf helped him back in his seat. ‘Alrigh’, Master Chaperone.’ He grinned at the other dwarves in their little group, but stopped at the sight of something at the top of the room. ‘I think your talents are needed at the head table.’ He nodded his head over Bilbo’s shoulder.

Bilbo turned and his ears grew red with mortification. For there was Frodo, sitting between Lady Dís and King Thorin, both dwarves turned attentively towards the small hobbit. Bilbo pressed his lips together. The King was whispering something in Frodo’s ear, though he could not gauge his nephew’s reaction from this distance. Bilbo bolted out of his chair and tried to move quickly through the room.

Dwarves seemed to constantly get in his way, slowing him down. At the top of the room, he could see Frodo standing up and bowing to Lady Dís. She nodded and stood up. They moved to the dance floor and joined their right hands. They moved three steps in a circle, then changed hands, going three steps in the other direction. Frodo faltered a bit, but the Lady was patient with him, seeming to teach him the steps as they went along. They ended up in a sort of embrace and skipped across the floor.

Lady Dís was at least a head taller than the young hobbit and her warg tooth kept hitting Frodo in the face. He tried to prevent it from hitting him directly in the eyes by twisting his head to the side but with little success. The lady’s grip was strong and there was little room to move.

Bilbo would have found the whole thing hilarious, if he hadn’t been so embarrassed that he had left his nephew alone to be ambushed by that dwarf king and his sister. He finally reached the edge of the dance floor, and started wringing his hands. Should he interrupt? Or would stopping the King’s sister in a dance be considered a great insult? Bilbo glanced around him. Many of the dwarves wore ceremonial knives and swords with bejewelled handles. But they still looked sharp, thought Bilbo, glancing at the dagger in the belt of the dwarf next to him. It looked to be able to cut the head off a hobbit. Bilbo swallowed drily. 

‘Are you enjoying the Durin’s Day celebrations, Master Hobbit?’ A deep voice came behind him. Even if he had only heard it once before, he still would have recognised it. It was the King. He was smirking at Bilbo, seeming to wait to hear the hobbit berate him once more. He probably felt like he’d already won.

Bilbo would not give him the satisfaction. Besides, he thought, if stopping a royal lady’s dance would surely get him beheaded, he dreaded to think what a hobbit shouting at their king would anger these dwarves into doing.

‘Yes, your Majesty.’ He ground his teeth and gestured towards the dance floor. ‘I see that your Majesty has arranged for some…entertainment for my nephew.’

‘Oh, that was entirely my sister’s doing. She said that Frodo reminded her of her son Kíli when he was younger. I think she even pinched his cheeks! Yes, she was quite charmed by your nephew.’ King Thorin kept his eyes on the couple on the floor. As are you, thought Bilbo.

The King looked at the hobbit next to him. ‘You’re flushed, Master Baggins.’ 

Bilbo put his hand to his cheek. It felt unnaturally warm. He said nothing and they watched the dancers for a while in silence.

‘I’m glad you’re enjoying the party.’ King Thorin suddenly said. ‘In my experience miners have always made excellent drinking partners.’ Bilbo followed his gaze to the back of the room where Bofur and his friends were sharing a toast. ‘Though I didn’t think a _proper_ hobbit such as yourself would ever deign to run off with a musician.’ The King’s lips twitched, his tone teasing.

‘Perhaps he is better company than any I have found so far in this mountain.’ Bilbo answered more quickly than he could think.

King Thorin clenched his fists and he stood straighter. ‘Really? Then we must amend that.’ He turned his entire body to face Bilbo. ‘I would like to invite you and your nephew for a tour of Erebor tomorrow. I will personally show you the sights; the market place, the upper mines, maybe even the library. It would be my pleasure to spend time with the distinguished guests from the Shire.’

The speech sounded rehearsed, and it had more than a little of Balin’s touch. But Bilbo _was_ tempted. He could hardly imagine the size of the library if it was to match the rest of this place, though with his luck it was probably just some shelves in an alcove. But what if it wasn’t…

Frodo and Lady Dís returned from their dance. The lad was out of breath but smiled at his uncle. The lady glanced shortly between her brother and his companion. She raised her eyebrows questioningly but said nothing.

‘Did you see me, Uncle Bilbo?’ Frodo made an exaggerated turn and ended in a bow. He grinned when he came back up. ‘Lady Dís has promised to show me all the dwarven dances!’

‘He will need to know them if he is to stay in Erebor,’ Lady Dís murmured. 

Bilbo would have words with his nephew later about keeping promises, but he couldn’t bring himself to put a dampener on Frodo’s good mood. This was the most excited he’d seen the lad since they had left the Shire.

King Thorin addressed his sister. ‘I was just inviting Master Baggins and young Frodo on a tour of the mountain tomorrow.’ His tone was nonchalant but his eyes never left Bilbo.

‘That sounds like an excellent idea!’, Lady Dís said. ‘Nobody knows Erebor better than my brother.’ Her smirk mirrored the King’s, and Bilbo felt like a mouse caught in a trap with a cat – no, two cats - advancing on it, licking their jowls.

Frodo and King Thorin stood next to each other, and Bilbo suddenly thought that they looked like a matched pair. With their dark hair, pale skin and blue eyes, it seemed like they had been created by Eru himself to be brought together. The neighbours had always found Frodo to look very exotic. Some even teased him about being a changeling when he was younger. No one else in the Shire looked like him. Maybe this was why.

Bilbo tugged on his own brown hair in thought. Frodo was grinning at him.

‘What do you say, Master Baggins?’ King Thorin’s eyes still hadn’t left his, and his deep voice felt like a warm, wet towel being rubbed across Bilbo’s skin. Bilbo shivered. 

He closed his eyes shortly. He was sure he would regret this in the morning. He answered the King.

‘Alright.’


	6. Chapter 6

Bilbo was restless. He kept smoothing his hands over his green waistcoat with the gold embroidery, and checking his jacket pocket for his handkerchief over and over again. Frodo had finally ducked his head away earlier, when Bilbo had come near him brandishing a comb for the fifth time this morning. The older hobbit’s fingers itched. If he could only get that one curl in the back that was completely flying away from the head, then…

‘It’s alright, Uncle Bilbo.’ Frodo said, patting down his own hair. To Bilbo’s eyes that only made it worse! He twisted the comb in his hand.

‘I thought we didn’t care about impressing King Thorin?’ Frodo asked.

‘We don’t.’ Bilbo answered. Maybe if he wet the curl, it would stay down…

‘Then why are you wearing your best waistcoat and primping me like I’m a horse going to market?’ Frodo moved out of reach of his uncle’s comb. He searched their breakfast tray for anymore of that good cheese. Dwarves didn’t believe in second breakfast _or_ elevenses, so a hobbit had to make do with what he was given. Both Bilbo and Frodo had taken to secreting food from the main meals, and keeping it on their persons during the day for easy snacking. Bread, hard cheese and fruit were the obvious choices, though Bilbo had caught Frodo looking longingly at a treacle pudding at the closing of the feast the night before.

‘Because we will not give _his Majesty_ the satisfaction of being anything less than presentable.’ Bilbo sighed. With Frodo’s back turned, that thing was just mocking him. 

‘Did you know what some dwarf asked me last night at the feast?’ he continued. ‘If it were true that “Hobbits _really_ lived in holes in the ground?”’ Bilbo affected a booming voice with a foreign brogue. 

He smoothed his hands down his jacket. ‘As if we were moles, or rats, or some other creatures sniffling around in the dirt!’

Frodo giggled. ‘And did you tell him off, Uncle Bilbo?’

‘Well, I told him all about the beauty of my window box, thank you very much! And the shininess of my floors!’ Bilbo stopped. This conversation might have taken place late in the evening, where both parties were more than a little in their cups.

Frodo had buttered a piece of bread and took a large bite. He spoke with his mouth full. ‘But that doesn’t mean the King thinks we live in a puddle of mud.’

‘Rumours travel, my lad.’ Bilbo said. ‘These dwarves stay hidden away from the outside world, and in such a place, a traveller’s tales told over a mug of beer soon become facts written down for posterity. Most of the dwarves will never have been near the Shire. It’s up to us, Frodo, to establish the good name of the hobbits in all of Erebor. Starting with the King.’

Frodo nodded solemnly, though there was a slight movement of the muscles around his mouth.

Bilbo checked his appearance in the mirror, straightening his jacket once again.

‘Besides,’ he sniffed. ‘This isn’t my best waistcoat. It’s the red velvet one.’

Frodo smiled at him. ‘Uncle Bilbo, don’t you think…’

There was a knock at the door.

Frodo swallowed the last of his breakfast, while Bilbo checked for his handkerchief one more time. They looked at each other. Bilbo sighed and went to open the door.

King Thorin looked different than he had done at the feast the night before. Besides the absence of that outlandish crown, he wore more simple clothes; a plain, blue surcoat matched his eyes. Bilbo glanced down, wanting to look at something else.

Standing behind the King was that massive dwarf, Dwalin. He stared straight ahead. On his back were two huge battle axes.

Bilbo gulped. Were those really needed on a tour of Erebor?

‘Good morning.’ The King moved past Bilbo into the room. He stopped in the middle, next to Frodo, and looked expectantly at the older hobbit.

Bilbo still stood at the open door, gawking between the King inside the room and his guard dog outside the room.

Frodo addressed the King. ‘Thank you for inviting us on this tour, your Majesty.’ He glanced at his uncle, seeking approval, and Bilbo shook himself out of his daze to echo his nephew’s sentiments.

‘Yes, thank you.’ He mumbled.

King Thorin lightly tapped his hand against his thigh. The room was silent.

‘Well!’ He suddenly said. ‘Let’s get going then.’

The King offered his arm to Frodo, who didn’t know what to do at first. Bilbo almost smiled at his nephew’s conundrum. The last time Frodo had been escorted by someone was at his Aunt Dora’s 100th birthday party, where she had insisted on taking her young nephew around the place, introducing him to far-flung cousins and neighbours. 

The lad soon caught on, though, and placed his hand gingerly in the crook of King Thorin’s elbow. 

They went out the door and Bilbo hurried after them.

 

X—X

 

King Thorin had explained that they would only see the upper mines, not the lower ones. The latter were still being excavated, and were not safe for gentle-hobbits.

‘A dwarf is made to work around rock,’ he explained ‘We are a sturdy race, and can handle a stone to the head with ease. I would not like to see your _soft_ bodies crushed by a falling boulder.’

Bilbo shuddered at the thought of Bofur digging out gold beneath them. If the walls caved in around the miners, how many days – weeks, even – would it take before they found the bodies?

The King moved forward. Frodo had disengaged himself from his Majesty sometime during their trip, falling back to walk beside his uncle. They followed the King over a stone bridge while Dwalin brought up the rear.

King Thorin stopped in the middle of the bridge. It overlooked a body of water. The hobbits could feel a breeze on their faces and hear the faint echo of water dripping somewhere.

‘This used to be an emerald mine,’ he said, pointing at the slanting walls around them ‘We’ve taken all we want from this area, but you can still see a green shimmer on the rocks.’

At first Bilbo thought it looked like some kind of a fungus, climbing the rocks from the water below, but then the King moved his torch back and forth in an arch, and suddenly the gems shone through. 

It reminded Bilbo of the grass on his lawn in the beginning of the harsh season. In the morning they were frosted over and the winter’s sun made them gleam right through the window to Bag End. Green and light brought together. It was beautiful.

He turned his head away from the splendour. King Thorin was next to him, smiling at his amazement. Bilbo looked back at the walls. 

‘I’ve never seen anything like it!’ Frodo exclaimed.

The King looked away from Bilbo. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s a rare sight. Erebor has the biggest mines in all of Middle-earth. They reach down almost two miles and we still haven’t finished digging yet. And that is what makes us the wealthiest kingdom in these lands, even more prosperous than Gondor.’ He looked at the hobbits expectantly, but they were still gazing at the beautiful rock.

Frodo turned to Dwalin. ‘Were you ever a miner, Mr. Dwalin?’

The large dwarf cleared his throat. ‘No, never a miner.’

King Thorin explained, ‘Dwalin and Balin’s family have always been close to the royal family of Erebor. In fact, I think we might be cousins of some sort.’ He looked to Dwalin for confirmation but none came.

‘Anyway,’ continued the King, ‘They were both brought up to serve the Monarch in an important capacity. Thus, Balin is my first advisor while Dwalin is the captain of my guard, and sometimes my personal bodyguard.’ King Thorin finished with a smirk at his dwarven companion, and Bilbo thought that they must be closer friends than they let on.

The King moved forwards once again, striding off the bridge with a couple of hobbits and a silent dwarf at his heels.

 

X—X

 

The market place was overwhelming. Bilbo had thought that the weekly market in Bree was large, but it was _nothing_ compared to this place. Everywhere he looked dwarves and even men from Dale, moved effortlessly around each other in their search for goods and wares. Merchants shouted offers at passer-bys, while the smell of food from various carts filled the air.

The noise surrounding them made it difficult for the King to explain anything to his guests, so they fanned out into the area, the hobbits stopping at whatever stall took their fancy. Bilbo still kept one eye on his nephew and one on the sights in front of him.

He had ended up at a place selling various tea leaves by the ounce. The dwarf running the stall had the most elaborate system of braids that Bilbo had seen, so far, in Erebor. His name was Dori, as Bilbo later found out, and he kept pulling down tins from the shelves behind him for Bilbo to smell. Once this dwarf discovered that Bilbo was fellow connoisseur of a proper cup of tea, he started explaining where he had gotten this tea and that tea from, what the right way to brew it was, and even which biscuits would go nicely with them.

‘And this came all the way from Harad.’ Dori said, handing Bilbo yet another tin. ‘You will notice the spices?’

Bilbo took a deep breath. Oh yes, this was quite different than anything he had ever smelt before. He wondered if it would have just as rich a taste. ‘Is that cardamom I can smell?’ he asked.

Dori smiled. ‘Yes, and when you brew it, it also has some ginger-like heat to it.’ He grabbed a brown paper bag from underneath the counter. ‘Shall we say ten ounces?’

Bilbo could have kicked himself. In his distracted state that morning, he had completely forgotten to tie his bag of gold to his belt. And he had really wanted that tea. Would this merchant even be here tomorrow?

‘Uncle Bilbo!’ A shout from another place in the market grabbed his attention. He murmured a quick ‘Excuse me’ to the friendly Dori and hurried to where his nephew would be. He passed the King and Dwalin, who had been discussing something with a nearby smith. They glanced after him but let him go on his way.

Frodo was standing in front of a baker’s stall, positively salivating over huge iced buns with a sugared cherry on top. Bilbo smiled. His nephew had always had a sweet tooth, something Bilbo hoped he would never grow out of. 

‘Don’t they look tasty, Uncle Bilbo? And it’s nearly time for luncheon.’ Frodo returned his gaze to the pastry.

Bilbo glanced at Frodo’s belt. Of course the lad hadn’t brought his own money. If Bilbo didn’t remind him, that boy would run out of Bag End most days with his braces half done up and only in his shirtsleeves.

Both Frodo and the baker were waiting for an answer, and Bilbo was in the same situation as he was two minutes before.

‘Allow me to pay for your food’ The King’s voice came behind them.

‘Oh, we couldn’t possibly…’ Bilbo began but was interrupted by the dwarf.

‘I brought you to this mountain. The least I can do is feed you.’ King Thorin gave a small smile to the hobbits.

The baker nodded shortly at his King, and started wrapping up his goods. Frodo got his iced bun, while Bilbo and the King preferred the meat pasties.

While eating their luncheon, they moved slowly back towards the entrance of the market. On the way, they spied Dwalin talking to the tea merchant, Dori. When he noticed his King and the hobbits passing by him, he quickly gathered his various parcels and followed them.

Frodo strained his neck to look over his shoulder at Dwalin. ‘Do you like tea, Mr. Dwalin?’

‘Hmm.’ Dwalin answered.

Frodo was not discouraged. ‘Uncle Bilbo is mad about tea. You two should talk about it sometime.’ The hobbit smiled at the captain of the guard.

Dwalin made no answer and that was the end of that conversation.

 

X—X

 

They were back in the corridors, and again Bilbo was astounded that these dwarves knew their way around. He tried to make note of waymarks along the way, committing tapestries and furniture to memory, but the King moved at such a speed, that it was difficult to study anything in these halls.  
He’s probably eager to be done with this tour, Bilbo thought. Probably has more important matters than going around his own mountain with two hobbits following him like ducklings following their mother.

‘Here we are.’ King Thorin sighed, stopping in front of a large green door. He looked at the hobbits.

‘I saved this for last.’ He said. ‘I hope you’ll enjoy this.’ He let his eyes slide over Bilbo before opening the door.

Bilbo exhaled slowly at the sight. Never had he seen so many books in one place. He walked quietly into the library, as if in a trance, taking in the shelves from floor to ceiling. The others followed him.

He was sure that if he had to spend the remaining days of his life in here, he would not be sorry. He moved to the nearest shelf, leaving his group at the door. A slim, red volume caught his eye and he took it down.

‘That’s in Khuzdul, I’m afraid.’ A quiet voice came from behind the shelf. A small reddish-blond dwarf popped his head around the corner and smiled at Bilbo.

‘You’re the hobbit, aren’t you?’ he said. Bilbo could only confirm that he was.

‘I don’t know much about hobbits. Which languages do you speak?’

‘Well, all hobbits speak the Common Speech, that is Westron, but _I_ also know Sindarin.’ Bilbo stood taller, pulling a bit on his braces.

The dwarf was not impressed. ‘The Elven language? Well, we don’t have any books written in that.’

He moved towards another shelf, pulling out a book. ‘This is in Westron. It’s a book of love poetry from Rohan. There are a lot of strange similes involving horses, but it still has some moving passages.’ He handed the book to Bilbo.

‘Oh, thank you!’ Bilbo was touched. He hadn’t read a book since leaving the Shire, and he already looked forward to tonight, when he would sit with this one in front of the fire.

‘I can find more books in Westron, if you give me some time.’ The dwarf moved to his desk and picked up his quill ‘What are you interested in?’

‘Oh, everything! History, fairy tales, poetry, romance…Whatever you can find!’ In Bilbo’s excitement, he had completely forgotten his earlier company who came up behind him.

The small dwarf looked up from his writing. ‘Oh! Your Majesty!’ He put his quill down ‘And Mr. Dwalin.’ His cheeks reddened slightly, and he bent his head.

Thorin glanced between his bodyguard and the shy dwarf. He smiled, though Bilbo didn’t know what was so funny.

‘Master Baggins and Master Frodo, I would like to introduce the youngest librarian and scholar in Erebor. His name is Ori.’ The King smiled gently at the small dwarf.

Ori lifted his head and nodded a greeting at the hobbits. ‘I will find those books for you, Master Hobbit.’ He hesitated, glanced quickly at his Majesty, and continued. ‘And will you do something for me in return?’

‘Of course, Ori, what is it?’ Bilbo felt very benevolent with a full stomach and the promise of a book at the end of the day.

‘Come and talk to me about hobbits. We have very little literature about your race in this library, most of it hearsay, and I would like to compose a volume using a first-hand source.’

Bilbo gave his nephew a meaningful look. ‘Yes, I will.’ He said to Ori. ‘When I come back to borrow some more books, then we can set a date for a meeting.’

Ori smiled, relieved. ‘Good! We will need to have trustworthy information on hobbits when our King is to marry one.’

The room grew silent. Frodo shuffled a bit next to his uncle, and Bilbo turned the book in his hands.

King Thorin cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Ori.’ He addressed the hobbits. ‘The library is always open, and a librarian will be here almost all of time. Young Ori spends most of his days in here.’

‘And most of his nights.’ Dwalin mumbled behind them.

The librarian’s cheeks became, if possible, even redder.

The company bid their farewell and went back to the door. Bilbo wound up walking next to King Thorin. 

‘Romance, Master Baggins?’ His Majesty murmured. ‘I didn’t think a proper hobbit would fritter his time away on such frivolous stories. It’s hardly a fitting subject for such an upright, moral person.’

‘Frivolous?’ Bilbo was riled. ‘I do not think a story of love is frivolous. If the stories are well-written, then they’re universal and can be shared between hobbits, dwarves, men and even elves. Whether you live for 70 years or 7000 years, love is a constant thing in our lives. And the stories are often told with wit, humour and a great understanding of this link between us all. Stories of war and history are open to dispute and strife, but romance…Romance is everywhere and forever.’ 

Bilbo quieted. His passions were something he mainly kept to himself. Only Frodo had been allowed into that private space in his heart. Why did he feel the need to defend himself and his books to this dwarf? He meant nothing to him!

They kept walking. Bilbo could hear Frodo teasing Dwalin about Ori behind them.

King Thorin broke the silence with a low voice. ‘I never said I wasn’t interested in romance.’ He hesitated. ‘I just didn’t think you were.’

The King turned quickly, the edge of his surcoat brushing against Bilbo. 

‘Dwalin!’ he barked, a little louder than necessary. ‘Will you escort the hobbits back to their chambers? I have some important duties to see to.’ He nodded first to Frodo, then Bilbo and quickly walked away in the opposite direction.

 

X—X

 

That evening, after supper, Frodo and Bilbo relaxed in front of the fire in their shared living room. Bilbo had started his book of Rohan poetry, while Frodo tried to whittle a piece of wood into an Oliphant. He only had an illustration from a book, and an old description from a ranger travelling up from the South to go after, but he thought he was doing a pretty good job. Only, he had definitely made the tusks too small…

There was a knock at the door. Bilbo sighed and made to stand up, but Frodo beat him to it.

It was a servant, carrying a small parcel wrapped in cloth. 

‘From his Majesty.’ The servant curtsied and left the parcel in Frodo’s care.

He carried it to a nearby table, where he noticed a small scroll attached with a piece of string.

‘What does it say?’ Bilbo stood next to Frodo.

The young hobbit read out loud, ‘For Master Frodo Baggins, as a thank you for a delightful and informative day. I hope you will accept this gift as the first of many. Thorin Oakenshield.’ The lad flushed when he finished reading.

Bilbo pressed his lips together in annoyance. It seemed these dwarves were trying to sneak in a courtship.

Frodo cut the string and parted the cloth. ‘Oh…’

It was a flower crafted from gold with a single ruby in the middle of the petals. These were thinly made and bended elegantly away from the gem. It was a beautiful object, even a hobbit could see that, and it had demanded many hours to make.

But it was its realistic qualities that also revealed its shortcomings.   
For while the petals bent smoothly, they weren’t velvety soft when he touched them. He wouldn’t be able to pluck them one by one while relaxing in his garden in Bag End.  
While the stem was life-like with an uneven texture to the metal, it was not warm to the touch like his daisies on a summer’s afternoon when he glided his fingers along them in his walk by the lawn.  
And the ruby was a sumptuous red, to be sure, but it had no delightful smell when he brought the flower to his nose. 

This was a dwarf’s present for a hobbit, Bilbo thought. Every consideration and effort had gone into it, but it was somehow all wrong at the same time.

‘Uncle Bilbo, there’s something else here.’

Bilbo handed the flower to his nephew, who still marvelled at the delicate beauty of the thing, and turned back the rest of the cloth.

It was a small brown paper bag. Bilbo picked it up and opened it. His eyes closed as his nose was suffused by the subtle smell of tea and cardamom. Bilbo smiled. How had he known…?

He read the small scroll again, and his thumb somehow kept caressing the same two words again and again, until “Thorin Oakenshield” was a slight smudge on a piece of parchment.


	7. Chapter 7

Bofur was still talking. Next to him, Bilbo was nodding politely though his gaze kept moving throughout the great hall. He wasn’t looking for anything or anyone in particular, but he kept being distracted from their conversation every time the large doors creaked open in front of him.

They had left Frodo in the kitchens with Bofur’s brother. Bombur was a… stout dwarf with a large braid hanging down his chest like a necklace. Whether it was part of his beard or his hair, Bilbo hadn’t been able to tell. The dwarf’s cheeks had been flushed and shiny from the heat of the stove, but he had greeted his brother’s friends with a gracious smile.

‘Very nice to meet you hobbits, very nice indeed.’ He had nodded his head vigorously, and slapped Bilbo on the back hard enough to almost make him fall face-first into a pot of hot beef stew. Well, thought Bilbo after righting himself, there could be _worse_ ways to go. He sniffed the dish delicately. Is that sage or thyme…?

‘Yes, Bofur has certainly told me a lot about you two.’ Bombur turned to the stove behind him, completely missing the way his brother pursed his lips in annoyance.

‘Bombur?’ Bofur interrupted. ‘Are ye cookin’ anythin’ good for lunch?’ He pulled out two chairs for Frodo and Bilbo to sit on.

The other dwarf was affronted. ‘Am I cooking anything “good” for lunch? When is lunch ever anything less than “good”?’

‘I don’ know. Judgin’ from what gets sent down to us miners in the middle o’ the day, it’s usually heated scraps from last night’s supper.’ He wiggled his moustache teasingly at his brother. Bilbo knew that Bofur was not the most particular of dwarves when it came to food. As long as there was plenty of it and ale to wash it down, he was happy. Though they came from the same family, Bombur had obviously developed more refined tastes through his work in the royal kitchens.

Bombur ignored his brother’s antics, gave an order to an underling to check on the bread, and started plating up various meat dishes to be taken to the great hall. 

Frodo watched all this activity with hungry eyes, wanting to take in all the dishes and their preparations.

‘Well,’ Bofur continued, as he stood up. ‘I’ve invited these two to eat lunch with me in the great hall. We need to go before the food’s gone.’

‘Oh, I did wonder, why your face was so clean in the middle of the day.’ Bombur raised his eyebrows at his brother. Bilbo _had_ noticed some black dust behind Bofur’s left ear earlier, but the gentle-hobbit had made no mention of it.

Frodo had moved from the table to stand by the stove. ‘Uncle Bilbo, I want to stay down here.’ His uncle made to interrupt but he continued. ‘Besides, you can talk to Bofur a lot better without me around.’ His attention went back to the numerous pots in front of him.

‘Let ‘im stay.’ Bofur said. ‘Bombur’ll look after ‘im and maybe he can even work a little to earn his keep.’ The dwarf grinned at the younger hobbit who laughed at the his impertinence. 

Bilbo was unsure. At home, he would have thought nothing of leaving Frodo alone with one of his neighbours for an entire day. But those were hobbits. These were dwarves. 

Bilbo sighed. He needed to stop this way of thinking. 

‘Alright, I’ll eat with Bofur alone. But I would like to have supper with my favourite nephew, if there aren’t any other suitors for your company tonight.’ Frodo nodded and returned to the stove.

Bilbo stood up. ‘It was nice to meet you, Master Bombur, and please give this one,’ nodding at Frodo, ‘something to eat. He hasn’t had anything since breakfast!’

Bofur brought Bilbo back up the stairs and into the hall. And that’s where they were now, with Bilbo keeping both eyes on the door and one ear on Bofur’s long-winded comparison between a mattock and an ordinary pickaxe, and why the former was obviously the superior choice.

Since their arrival in Erebor, winter had really grabbed hold of the land surrounding the mountain. Everything had slowed down. There was a crispness to the air when Bilbo opened the shutters in the morning, and he was sure that it would snow that night. 

Erebor remained unchanged by the weather. Its thick walls insulated its inhabitants, though Bilbo still moved quickly from fire to fire when he had to walk through the halls.

The door creaked again. It had been almost two weeks since their tour of the mountain with the King, and neither Frodo nor Bilbo had seen him since that day. The golden flower had been placed in a vase on Frodo’s dresser, but the lad looked at it less and less with every passing day. 

Bilbo enjoyed his cup of tea every night, but he had the urge to squirrel the rest of the packet away in his travelling trunk. He felt that he would somehow need it more, once he had returned to the Shire.

There was a creaking sound in front of him. Bilbo looked up. 

Lady Dís walked into the great hall, flanked by her two sons. Again, the hobbit was impressed by the great presence of the Lady.

She stopped in front of him and Bofur, who quickly removed his hat. 

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I had hoped to find Frodo with you.’

Bilbo nodded in understanding. He was used to this by now. Dwarves still turned and looked at Frodo, when the two hobbits moved through the halls, and he heard whispers of ‘The King’s intended’ following their footsteps. Frodo was the more important of the two now, and he had to get used to that. Back in the Shire, there was no Frodo without Bilbo. Here in Erebor, Bilbo seemed to fade into the background next to the youth and beauty of his nephew.

‘I wanted to invite both of you for supper in my chambers tonight. My sons will be there as well.’ She spread her arms slightly to encompass the lads standing on either side of her. They each gave the hobbit a perfunctory smile, but looked like they wanted to be somewhere else.

‘And the King?’ Bilbo couldn’t help himself.

Lady Dís’s eyes softened. ‘My brother will not be joining us. He has some business with his advisors and will probably work late into the night.’

Bilbo ducked his head. He knew he couldn’t refuse this great dwarrowdam. ‘We will be delighted, my Lady.’

She nodded briskly. ‘Good. I’ll send someone to escort you. Probably one of these two blockheads.’ as she gestured to her sons with lazy wave of her hand. The Lady walked away, her sons ambling after her.

Bilbo suddenly remembered the dwarf next to him. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Master Bofur! I should have introduced you!’ He blushed. Being away from the Shire was having a bad effect on his manners.

‘Wasn’t ‘specting ye to.’ Bofur calmed his friend. ‘The grand ‘n’ mighty don’t talk to lowly miners like me, other than to give ‘em orders. I rarely see lords and ladies outside of the Durin’s Day celebrations, and even then all I get is a short nod.’ He took a sip from his cup.

‘Isn’t it like that in the Shire?’ Bofur asked.

Bilbo thought about it. Of course, the Tooks, the Brandybucks and even the Baggins were considered important families in the Shire. But that was mainly because they kept track of their family tree, took pride in their name, and had never moved an inch since first settling on their land. And the Browns and the Greenhands were considered to be more…salt of the earth types, but was never treated as less than any other. Why, Bilbo drank tea with his gardener, and danced with the daughter of his butcher at the village fetes.

‘No,’ he said. ‘There isn’t such a large difference between hobbits.’

‘Thought as much.’ Bofur drummed his fingers on the table. He looked away from Bilbo. ‘It makes sense now. Why a nicely dressed hobbit, such as yerself, spent so much time talking with a grubby miner.’ He drained his cup and pushed away from the table. ‘Enjoy your supper with the Lady.’

‘Master Bofur?’ Bilbo grabbed his hand and had to think quickly. ‘Will you have supper with Frodo and me tomorrow evening?’ 

Bofur was a jolly dwarf by nature, but Bilbo thought that he had never seen such a large and genuine smile on his friend’s face before. The dwarf nodded so quickly, that his hat was in danger of falling off.

‘Yes, I would like that very much, Mr. Baggins.’

‘Please,’ the gentle-hobbit said. ‘Call me Bilbo.’

Before the large doors closed behind Bofur, he turned around, and even at a distance Bilbo could still see his wide, happy eyes.

 

X—X

 

Lady Dís was an accomplished hostess. She welcomed her guests with a smile, introducing her sons, Fíli and Kíli, properly to the two hobbits, and then led them to a table packed with food and drink, inviting them to feel at home. Yes, everything was quite correct.

Only, once Bilbo and Frodo had finished exclaiming about the food, remarking on the comfortable size of the room, and complimenting the Lady’s choice of furnishings, conversation seemed to dry up.

Frodo kept pushing a piece of potato around his plate, while Bilbo took several small sips of his wine in quick succession. 

Surprisingly, it was the Lady’s youngest son, Kíli, who made the next effort into a subject.

‘Do you spar, Master Frodo?’ he said.

Frodo stopped bothering that poor potato. ‘Spar?’

‘Yes, you know, with swords, spears or axes?’

The oldest, Fíli, was suddenly interested in the conversation.

‘Kíli prefers the bow and arrow,’ he said ‘while I am handy with two single-handed swords.’ He looked at his brother. ‘Though both of us know our way around a two-handed broadsword as well.’

They looked at Frodo. ‘What’s your weapon of choice?’

Frodo kept opening and closing his mouth like a fish but little sound came out. At last he gathered himself. ‘I don’t! Have a weapon, that is. Or spar, for that matter.’

Bilbo took up the subject. ‘We don’t do a lot of fighting in the Shire. We are a peaceful sort.’ He smiled at Lady Dís, who didn’t return the courtesy,

‘But,’ she said, ‘what do you do if you encounter a “non-peaceful sort”?’ The Lady looked at Bilbo searchingly.

‘We don’t.’ He gave a helpless smile. ‘We never have.’

The three dwarves stared at him, and he gave a slight shrug, as if that were any answer.

‘I haven’t seen any danger inside Erebor, either, in the time I’ve been here.’ He continued. ‘But Master Dwalin still carries huge axes on his back, and most dwarves will at least wear a good sized knife in their belt.’

The dwarves all made an almost reflexive movement of their right hand to their waist.

‘But weapons are part of our culture!’ Fíli exclaimed. ‘I carry our mother’s swords, while Kíli uses our father’s bow. They are as important as our braids.’ The two small braids next to his mouth shook with his agitation.

‘The life and family of dwarves are inscribed on their weapons, Master Baggins.’ Lady Dís said and stood up. She went to a chest in the corner of the room, where she pulled out a huge axe, one that almost measured the length of Frodo. Bilbo could feel the lad suddenly tremble beside him. He placed his hand gently next to his nephew’s on the table.

She pushed the half-empty dishes out of the way and placed the axe with a clang.

‘Look here,’ she said, pointing at clusters of runes on the blade of the weapon. ‘These mark important events in my family’s life.

She started listing while her finger glided over the indentations in the metal, ‘My parent’s marriage, my birth, my first kill, when I began courting the boys’ father, my marriage, and my greatest victory in battle.’ Her eyes had a far-way look, as if the cold iron was telling her something.

Kíli took over from his mother. ‘Uncle Thorin has something similar. A longsword with an emerald at the end of the handle. It has names going back to Náin the Second!’

Fíli nodded. ‘Yes, and Frodo’s name will be on there soon enough.’ The two lads smiled at the young hobbit.

Bilbo could feel his nephew’s hand forming a fist next to his on the table. ‘What?’ Frodo said.

‘When you start your courtship.’ Fíli scraped his plate for any last remnants of food. ‘We’ve all been wondering why Uncle hasn’t announced anything yet.’

‘Yes,’ Kíli said. ‘You’ve already been here for more than two weeks.’ He smiled at Frodo. ‘What are you waiting for?’

‘Frodo is still young…’ Bilbo started.

‘He can’t be much younger than Fíli or me!’ Kíli grinned at his brother.

‘And as Balin has so often reminded us, we’re both plenty past marrying age!’ Fíli grabbed another piece of bread.

Bilbo kept silent. He was not prepared to get into another discussion filled with misunderstandings about dwarves and their strange version of age and growth. 

The words burst out of Frodo, though. ‘But I’m not ready to be put on a sword!’

The room was quiet but for Frodo’s loud breathing. Lady Dís placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘Are you not sure about your courtship with the King, Frodo?’ Her voice was gentle, gentler than Bilbo had heard before.

Frodo’s breathing had sped up. ‘I don’t know.’ He licked his lips. ‘I mean, I’ve hardly seen King Thorin. He’s been, you know, alright but not…’ He trailed off.

Lady Dís ruffled his hair. ‘Don’t listen to these two fools. There’s no rush. You’re young, and my brother is in the prime of his life.’

She sat back down. ‘You’ll find each other eventually.’

Bilbo exhaled. This entire thing still felt wrong.

 

X—X

 

They had bid their goodnights and left the table. Fíli and Kíli intercepted the hobbits by the door.

‘We’re sorry about earlier.’ They looked at Frodo.

‘We didn’t mean to pressure you.’ Kíli said. ‘I guess we’re just excited that Uncle’s finally found someone.’

‘And we want to invite you to spar with us whenever you want.’ Fíli continued. ‘We train most mornings.’

‘But I can’t fight.’ Frodo protested.

‘We’ll teach you!’ Kíli said. ‘We’re excellent teachers!’ Fíli nodded his head.

Frodo hesitated. Bilbo said nothing. This was the lad’s decision.

‘Alright.’ Frodo said. ‘Where do you train?’

‘We’ll show you! Right now!’

The dwarves bustled the small hobbit out the door.

“Are you going to be alright, Frodo?’ Bilbo called after them.

‘Don’t worry, Master Boggins. We’ll look after him!’ came the cry back, though he couldn’t tell whether that was Fíli or Kíli.

Bilbo sighed. It would be alright, he told himself. He started down the hallway in the direction of his rooms.

Or what he _thought_ was the direction. The dark corridors all looked the same to the hobbit. Damn this windowless mountain, he thought, as he passed the same statue for the third time.

After shuffling aimlessly through abandoned passages, he finally swallowed his pride and looked for someone to ask for help. He turned around once more.

There! He could see a doorway up ahead with light flooding out from beneath it. He hurried to it.

His hobbit manners made him softly push the door slightly open. He didn’t want to disturb anymore than he had to, and if he saw something he shouldn’t, then he could quickly make his escape. He heard muffled voices and the tail end of a sentence.

‘…very young. Too young, even.’ That voice sounded familiar, Bilbo thought.

‘You’re not making any sense. I thought we agreed on this?’ There was a second voice.

‘I know _why_ I have to do it. I’m just not sure anymore.’ 

The second person sighed. ‘This isn’t like you. You never had these kinds of ideas before.’

‘Maybe now’s the right time for them.’

The room was silent, and Bilbo was ready to make his presence known.

‘Wait…’ the first voice said. ‘There’s someone at the door.’

Blast it! Bilbo turned on his feet and moved down the hall. There was the sound of the door swinging open behind him, and then light flooded the floor in front of him. He heard a deep voice.

‘Bilbo?!’

He flinched. Of course it was the King. The only thing that could make his humiliation more complete was if both his parents came back to life to see their only son scrambling around a deserted hallway like a common thief.

Bilbo turned around. There was an urge to smooth his jacket and check his hair, but he suppressed it.

‘Good evening, your Majesty.’ He bowed.

‘What are you doing out here?’ The King closed the door behind him and moved towards Bilbo. 

In the cold and dimly lit hallway, King Thorin’s voice seemed to envelop Bilbo. He felt warm. Why did he feel warm?

The King was now next to him. Too close, Bilbo thought.

‘I…’ he started. King Thorin looked at him attentively. ‘I got lost, coming back from supper.’

The King’s lips quirked upwards. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’ He would like to see _his Majesty_ try to find his way round the circular paths of Hobbiton!

‘Then allow me to escort our esteemed guest to his rooms.’ King Thorin presented his right arm with a flourish.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and placed his hand on the other’s arm. He could survive this ridicule; he just wanted to find his bed before morning.

King Thorin started off with purpose, and Bilbo followed.

The King had removed his usual leather vambraces and his surcoat, and there was nothing between the hobbit and the dwarf but the soft material of King Thorin’s tunic. Bilbo flexed his fingers on his forearm. He could feel the hard muscles jumping beneath his touch.

The King cleared his throat. ‘Why were you having supper in the East wing?’

‘Lady Dís invited me.’

‘Ah.’

They walked in silence. Bilbo’s ingrained manners urged him to find some topic of conversation, but his new-found obstinacy when it came to this king kept him quiet.

‘How is Frodo?’ King Thorin asked.

‘Good.’

Bilbo sighed. As much as he tried, he couldn’t be impolite. ‘The inhabitants of Erebor have been very welcoming to him, and try to keep him busy and entertained.’ Bilbo hesitated. ‘Your nephews are going to teach him how to spar.’ He said the last word as if it were foreign to him.

The King laughed. ‘I’d like to see that! Knowing their impatience, they won’t even teach him how to hold a sword properly before swinging at him!’

Bilbo swallowed drily and grabbed King Thorin’s arm tighter. He suddenly felt a large, warm hand on top of his own. They had stopped walking.

‘I’m joking, Master Baggins.’ The King looked earnestly into his eyes. ‘The lads may be a little…impetuous, but they’re not cruel. Besides, Dwalin will be there. He always oversees my sister-sons’ training.’

Bilbo nodded. They stood in silence for a moment, the King’s hand still holding onto Bilbo’s smaller one. He thought he could feel it move over his knuckles slightly.

‘It’s odd.’ King Thorin murmured, seemingly far away. ‘You have so much hair on your feet, but your hands…They’re quite smooth.’

Bilbo didn’t know what to say to that, and he wasn’t entirely sure that the King knew what he was saying.

He gently disentangled his hand from his Majesty’s grip. He looked away from the dwarf in front of him.

‘Yes,’ The King swallowed. ‘I was taking you back to your rooms.’

He moved on ahead, and Bilbo followed. There was no more talking and no more touching. Bilbo was relieved, though his fingers still prickled with the remembered warmth of the King’s arm.

As they walked through the passages, Bilbo could gradually recognize more and more of his surroundings. They must be close, thank Yavanna.

King Thorin stopped in front of a familiar door. Bilbo sighed. Finally.

He made to open the door.

‘Master Baggins?’

He closed his eyes shortly and turned around. ‘Yes?’

‘I asked about Frodo earlier, but I didn’t inquire about you.’ The King straightened slightly. ‘Are you enjoying your stay in Erebor?’

What could Bilbo say? That the cold walls of the mountain still seemed to close in around him? That a lot of the dwarves ignored him in favour of Frodo? That he dreaded every meeting with his nephew’s intended, because the dwarf unsettled him in a way that he couldn’t explain?

‘I’m fine.’

‘And have you been enjoying the library?’ The King moved closer.

Bilbo tightened his grip on the door handle. ‘I haven’t been back yet.’

‘Oh.’

Bilbo sighed. ‘Thank you for leading me back to my chambers, your Majesty.’

The King nodded briskly, and looked away.

Bilbo would regret this. ‘And thank you for the tea.’ It felt dangerous to even acknowledge the gift.

King Thorin’s eyes, which had been shuttered, quickly found Bilbo. He looked incredibly grateful for the hobbit’s words. ‘You’re welcome.’ He smiled.

Bilbo’s hand tingled once again.

‘Bilbo?’ That was the second time the King had used his first name in one evening. The gentle-hobbit was not quite comfortable with it. But Kings were the makers of customs and could not be gainsaid. 

‘What is it?’ Bilbo felt tired.

‘Will you dine with me tomorrow night? You and Frodo, I mean.’ King Thorin leant slightly towards him.

Bilbo remembered Bofur’s happy eyes. ‘I’m sorry, your Majesty. We’re having supper with a friend.’ After what he had learnt at lunch, he suddenly felt like provoking the King. ‘He’s one of the miners currently digging out your Majesty’s gold.’

‘The one you went away with during the Durin’s Day celebrations?’ King Thorin’s gaze was intent.

Bilbo was surprised that the King remembered. Maybe it had been a total breach of propriety for the uncle of the King’s intended to enjoy the company of labourers.

‘Yes. His name is Bofur, if your Majesty didn’t know.’

‘Is he…?’ The King hesitated. ‘No, it’s not my place to ask.’

Bilbo rubbed his eyes. It was too late for mysterious dwarves. He gave a quick ‘Goodnight.’ to the King and shut the door behind him.

There was a light coming from Frodo’s bedroom. He’s back then, Bilbo thought as his shoulders slumped. He went to his own bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.

In the quiet darkness of the room, he could hear the beat of his heart slowing. 

When had it sped up? Was it when he had been alone and lost in the dark hallways? When he had been discovered spying on the King of Erebor? When he had openly flaunted his friendship with a miner in the King’s face?

Or was it when he had stood silently in the dim light from a flickering torch, feeling the warm, rough touch of a large hand on his own, and looked up into blue eyes that no longer felt like ice.


	8. Chapter 8

Clang!

Bilbo and Frodo flinched as Fíli parried his brother’s lunge with some considerable effort. The brothers did not hold back in their fighting even within the confines of the training area of Erebor.

Soft sand covered the middle of the floor – _and_ the two brothers, who had started their session with quick wrestling match – while the two hobbits sat pressed against the wall, trying to get as far away from the dwarves with the large swords as possible.

Dwalin circled the training ground again and again, calling out encouragement and corrections to the duelling lads.

‘Fíli! Move your feet!’

‘Kíli! Hold that sword properly!’

It was the most words Bilbo had heard from the imposing dwarf since he had met him. Apparently, fighting made him more sociable.

As the match went on, and Bilbo and Frodo became more and more convinced that the brothers wouldn’t hurt each other or their spectators, they started to relax and enjoy the thrill of it all.

The closest thing they had ever come to a fight was watching a drunken scuffle outside The Green Dragon Inn. It had not been a very proficient battle, and it was quickly broken up by friends of both parties involved.

This was a far more impressive affair. Despite the sturdy bulk of the dwarves, they moved effortlessly and with great strength.

The fight ended with Kíli on his back with Fíli’s sword to his neck. The hobbits held their breath. Then the two brothers laughed, and the victor offered his hand to the defeated to help him up.

‘Now that we’re warmed up, it’s your turn, Master Frodo!’ Kíli called out to the younger hobbit.

‘Alright.’ Frodo stood up. The lad had been unusually quiet during breakfast. But a promise made was a promise kept, as Frodo’s granddad had always said, and the young hobbit didn’t want to let the brothers down. Bilbo was proud of his nephew’s spirit.

‘We’re doing this with wooden swords. They’re lighter, and you’re less likely to get hurt.’ Fíli threw one to Frodo who barely caught it.

Bilbo stayed seated and watched the training. Fíli and Kíli were nice lads after all, he thought. They took time showing Frodo a good grip on the weapon and a proper stance. 

Fíli, being the shorter of the two, was paired off against the hobbit.

They circled each other slowly. Frodo held his sword out in front of himself protectively. Suddenly Fíli moved forward, trying to attack Frodo’s side. It was only the hobbit’s nimble feet that moved him out of the way, and his sword just touched Fíli’s in defence.

‘Well done!’ Kíli shouted. ‘Now try to get back at him, Frodo!’

Bilbo wondered that Dwalin had no advice to give. He looked around. The dwarf was at the door, talking to his brother, Balin.

Bilbo pressed his lips together. He hadn’t seen much of the advisor since that first ill-fated meeting between the hobbits and the King. Since that evening, Balin’s diplomatic niceties had lost some of their charm.

Balin clapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder and moved over to Bilbo. The hobbit stood up, so that the white-haired dwarf didn’t have to sit on the ground.

‘Master Balin.’ Bilbo greeted.

‘Master Baggins. Just the hobbit I was looking for.’ Balin smiled graciously, though it did not quite reach his eyes.

‘Yes?’ Bilbo was wary. What did this dwarf want?

‘I have here a letter from your Thain, asking how the courtship is progressing.’ Balin took a folded piece of parchment from inside his jacket. ‘I confess I do not know what to tell him.’

Bilbo swallowed hard. He had dreaded this conversation. They had been in the mountain nearly a month, and besides the golden flower, King Thorin had given no special attention to Frodo.

‘And there’s been some discussion among the King’s council.’ Balin continued as he looked at Frodo, who was laughing with Fíli and Kíli. ‘They are wondering why his Majesty hasn’t announced an official courtship yet.’

‘The King has been busy…’ Bilbo started.

‘The council agrees.’ Balin interrupted. ‘That’s why they will mostly work independently of his Majesty for the next few months, so he can spend more time with his intended.’

He placed a heavy hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. ‘It’s up to us, Master Baggins, to bring these two together.’

‘Frodo still has the right to refuse the King’s proposal.’ Bilbo’s voice was low but intent.

‘Of course he does. But he doesn’t know King Thorin yet, does he?’ Balin squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder. ‘Let’s give these two a chance to find each other before the lad’s coming-of-age.’

_Find each other_. Those had been Lady Dís’s words as well.

Bilbo looked at his nephew. The serious training had dissolved into play-fighting with Kíli trapping the hobbit under him on the ground. Frodo was almost squealing with laughter as the dwarf tickled his sides. 

‘Master Frodo has the right to refuse. But doesn’t he also have the right to know _what_ he’s refusing?’ Balin had leaned closer.

Bilbo rubbed his forehead. Most of his own life had been ruled by that of which he was afraid. He had stayed in his parents’ house, never married, never had children, and had never even made a stab at writing his book. Frodo had been raised around Bilbo’s fears, but hadn’t embraced them as his own. Not yet, that is.

Bilbo sighed. He felt like he was standing at a crossroads, holding Frodo by the hand.

If his nephew could go through a courtship with a great king without fear or without running back to Bag End, and give his answer at the end of it with conviction then… Then Bilbo couldn’t ask for more. 

‘Can you arrange a meeting between his Majesty and Frodo?’ He didn’t look at Balin, but kept his eyes fixed on his nephew.

The dwarf smiled. ‘Does that mean you will agree to officially start the courtship?’

‘Yes.’ Bilbo still looked out into the training area. Frodo made some comment that had both of the brothers laughing loudly. ‘But I will still chaperone all contact between the two of them.’

Balin nodded. ‘Of course.’

Frodo was sharing a drink of water with the three other dwarves. When he noticed Bilbo’s look, he raised his glass in a mock toast and grinned at his uncle. Bilbo smiled back at him.

Yes, he thought, Frodo should never be afraid of anything. 

 

X—X

 

The knock came at the door three days later.

Bilbo had been preparing his nephew for this appointment, impressing on him the importance of giving this courtship a chance.

‘Yes, Uncle Bilbo.’ Frodo had said, rolled his eyes, and gone back to practising his sword moves with the fireplace poker.

And now the King was here for their first official meeting. Bilbo took a deep breath and opened the door.

It was a servant. He was using both hands to hold out a large parcel in front of him.

‘For Master Frodo Baggins, from his Majesty.’

‘Thank you.’ Bilbo forced a smile, but was secretly dreading this strange dwarven gift.

The servant remained standing outside the door. Is he expecting some kind of present to take back to the King? Bilbo flexed his fingers around the heavy parcel. They hadn’t prepared anything…

The dwarf noticed his confusion. ‘I’m to wait for Master Frodo to open his Majesty’s gift,’ he explained, ‘And then take you both to his Majesty who’s waiting outside the mountain.’

Outside? Bilbo glanced at his window. For a whole month, he had only been surrounded by stone. He longed to feel the wind against his entire body, not just his face through a small opening.

‘Won’t you come in and wait?’ Bilbo asked. The servant walked in and stood silently next to the door.

‘Frodo, look here. It’s from the King.’

The lad ambled over, still twirling the fire poker in his right hand. Together they freed the contents from its wrapping and stood back to look at it.

It was a heavy, blue cloak lined with thick fur. On the back was golden stitching: a crown and six stars over a hammer and anvil. Durin’s symbol. King Thorin’s symbol.

If Frodo wore this, it was as good as a public announcement of their intention to court. Bilbo stroked his hand over the warm fur.

‘It’s cold outside, and the King would be offended if you’re not wearing his gift. You’ll have to put it on.’

Frodo threw it around his shoulders. They sagged from the weight of the thing, and the cloak almost reached the ground, brushing against the hairs of Frodo’s feet.

‘It seems Erebor’s tailors don’t do hobbit sizes.’ Frodo said and grinned at his uncle. He moved about the room, swinging the cloak around.

‘I look like Grandma Ruby at her last wedding anniversary. All I need is a pearl necklace to complete the look!’ Frodo made another turn and the fabric swirled around him.

Bilbo glanced at the servant shuffling next to the door. ‘We have to go, Frodo.’

The lad sobered. ‘What about you, Uncle Bilbo? You don’t have a cloak.’

‘I have my sturdy winter coat. It’s seen me through the last five winters, and it’ll see me through this one as well.’ He pulled on his coat, and they followed the servant out the door.

 

X—X

 

The wind blew through the hobbits’ hair when they stepped out of the mountain. Bilbo took a deep breath and relaxed his body completely. 

Frodo smiled next to him. ‘This is lovely, isn’t it?’ 

There was a smell of pine on the air, and a light covering of snow crunched under their feet. Bilbo closed his eyes to let the sounds and smells fill him. Lovely? This was heaven.

A _cold_ heaven. He flipped up the collar on his coat, trying to cover more of his cheeks. The wind was already giving them a pink hue.

‘Frodo!’ There was a shout from around the corner. Bilbo was surprised to see King Thorin’s nephews hurrying towards them, followed by the measured stride of his Majesty. Had they come to cancel the appointment? Maybe the King was still too busy to spend time with the hobbits. Bilbo glanced back at the opening to the mountain. He hadn’t been outside for nearly long enough…

‘Fíli! Kíli!’ Frodo grinned and waved. Bilbo turned and stared at his nephew. When had he received permission to address these royal dwarves by their first name?

The two lads huffed as they reached the hobbits. ‘We’re your chaperones!’ Fíli said.

King Thorin came up behind his nephews. The hobbits bowed. 

‘I thought more chaperones would only add more propriety to the beginning of this courtship,’ the King said. ‘Besides, three swords are better than one outside of the mountain.’ 

He looked at Frodo. ‘Do you like the cloak, Master Frodo?’

‘Yes, thank you, your Majesty. It’s very…warm.’ Frodo gave a polite smile to his intended.

‘Come on, Frodo!’ Kíli grabbed his hand. ‘We want to show you something.’ The three lads ran ahead, leaving Bilbo to walk beside King Thorin.

They hiked in silence for a while, moving ever upwards on a narrow path circling Erebor. The stone was bare and cold next to them, but Bilbo still loved the open space all around him.

The silence moved him to speak. ‘It was a very lovely present, your Majesty.’

‘It’s tradition.’ The King looked ahead. ‘Clothing has always been important in dwarven courting. Giving clothes shows that you’re able to take care of your intended.’

Bilbo pondered that. Dwarven courtship sounded more complicated than in the Shire. There, a walk in the forest, a kiss on the cheek, and a dance at the village fete was enough to show that you held someone dear.

‘And the golden flower?’ he asked.

‘To show that I know my intended, and know what’s important to him.’ The King looked off the side of the mountain. ‘Frodo is a hobbit. Hobbits are nature-loving folk. Hence, a flower.’ He turned to Bilbo.

Bilbo tried to suppress a smile but the King noticed.

‘What? You disapprove of flowers?’ A wrinkle appeared on King Thorin’s forehead.

‘No, I enjoy flowers.’ Bilbo hesitated. How should he explain this to a dwarf? ‘But that wasn’t a flower.’

The King held his hands behind his back and stood straighter. ‘Yes, it was.’

‘It had the shape of a flower, but it wasn’t a flower.’ 

‘Don’t be pedantic.’ He said gruffly.

‘I’m not. You dwarves spend all your lives digging for gold and jewels. You can tell a diamond from a piece of quartz at a glance, and would be offended if anyone gave you the latter, claiming it was the former. Hobbits are like that with flowers. We inherit plants, we grow them, we share the plant with our neighbours, and we give them to our loved ones. Some hobbits even take their favourite flower as their family’s sigil. We _know_ flowers, as dwarves know stone.’

King Thorin was quiet for a while. ‘Well, it’s not like I can find any real flowers for young Frodo in this mountain.’

‘No? What’s that then?’ Bilbo pointed ahead of them. There was a smudge of purple and green amidst the gray of the stone.

They moved closer. ‘Those?’ said the King. ‘Those are just fireweeds.’

The flowers were a delicate purple with a long, slim stem and narrow leaves. Bilbo knelt next to them while King Thorin remained standing. ‘They grow all over this mountain.’ he said.

‘We call them rosebay willowherbs in the Shire,’ Bilbo almost whispered. He touched the flowers reverently. How he had missed this.

‘Well, that’s a nicer name than fireweed.’

Bilbo plucked a single flower and stood up. It found a home in the button hole of his coat. He looked up at King Thorin who had been watching him.

‘Why do you call it fireweed?’

The King shrugged. ‘Because they can grow on burnt ground. It is said that a dragon once flew around Erebor, scorching it from top to bottom. Dwarves fled their homes in fear, seeking refuge in Dale.’ He pointed towards the small town at the foot of the mountain.

´Not long after the dragon left,’ he continued, ‘Fireweeds started to grow on the mountain, before any other living thing did, and the dwarves took it as a sign that Erebor was ready to be lived in again. And they returned.’

King Thorin looked down at the flower on Bilbo’s coat. ‘Yes, it’s a tough little thing,’ he murmured.

Bilbo imagined the fear those dwarves must have felt. ‘But I thought dragons wanted treasure? Didn’t Erebor have any gold back then?’

‘Heaps of it. Perhaps it was just a particularly stupid dragon.’ 

Bilbo exhaled a short laugh and smiled at the dwarf. King Thorin gave a small smile in return.

Fíli came back for them in that moment. He went to say something, but as soon as he saw his Uncle and the hobbit turned towards each other, he hesitated, not wanting to break in on their conversation.

‘Uncle?’ he finally said.

King Thorin quickly turned away from Bilbo. ‘Yes?’ He said briskly.

‘I think Master Baggins should see this as well.’ Fíli waved his hand to bring the hobbit closer.

Bilbo followed Fíli further up the mountain. The winds were harsher up here and, even in his good winter coat, Bilbo shivered. He hunched his shoulders up around his ears, trying to keep warm.

‘You have to be quiet’, Fíli whispered. Bilbo nodded in reply.

They soon came upon Kíli and Frodo kneeling behind a low wall of rocks, peeking over the edge now and then. Bilbo knelt down next to his nephew. The cold ground felt like ice, even through his woollen trousers.

Frodo smiled at his uncle in greeting. ‘Look, Uncle Bilbo.’ He pointed over the wall.

Bilbo craned his neck. What was he looking at? It just looked like a scrub of bushes. Then suddenly he saw a flash of white among all the brown.

It was two greyish-white fluffy chicks sitting quietly in a huge nest. Their beaks and feet were too big for their bodies, their feathers rather scraggly, but they were adorable, Bilbo thought.

Then he saw a shadow moving over the shrubbery. ‘Look.’ Kíli whispered ‘It’s the mother.’

A huge eagle swooped elegantly down to sit on the edge of the nest. It rubbed its head gently against the chicks.

‘Aww,’ Frodo whispered. ‘Look at how it greets its babies.’

‘Eagles may be proud and fearsome creatures, Master Frodo, but they have a soft heart when it comes to their loved ones. They are more than a sharp beak and long claws.’ King Thorin had joined them, sitting slightly behind Bilbo and Frodo. The soft murmuring of his voice made Bilbo’s ears feel warm and tingly. 

‘They know how to care for those closest to them,’ the King finished.

The eagle looked back up then. Its head moved in a quick, abrupt fashion, while its eyes seemed to penetrate everything around it.

Bilbo sat down on his heels and shivered. He was pretty sure that he wasn’t one of this eagle’s loved ones, and he would hate to have his stomach slashed open by those claws. 

‘We should go back,’ Fíli said. ‘It’s not safe to be this close to a nesting eagle.’

The others agreed, and they silently crept away.

The path narrowed and the group had to walk in a single file. Fíli and Kíli lead the way while the hobbits followed with King Thorin coming up behind them.

The winds felt less harsh as they moved down the mountain again, but the cold seemed to have taken up residence in Bilbo’s body. He couldn’t seem to get warm again. Blowing on his hands and hugging his own body didn’t help much. He hunched his shoulders, kept his head down, and grew quiet.

When they reached a wider section of the path, he suddenly felt a weight on both his shoulders as King Thorin strode past him. He grabbed hold of whatever it was with his hands and felt soft, thick fur.

He looked ahead at the King who was now walking next to Frodo, making conversation. King Thorin was only in his leather surcoat, where before he had worn a heavy, brown cloak.

Bilbo’s eyes widened at his realization. He gathered the sides of the cloak in front of him and stared at the worn seams. The warmth of the King’s body permeated the fur, and Bilbo could feel it seeping into his own frozen body.

He shrugged properly into the cloak, and was suddenly surrounded by the smell of metal, leather, sweat, and a particular spicy scent, which he somehow _knew_ belonged to King Thorin. 

Bilbo stared at the King, trying to read anything from the back of his head. As his body grew warmer, he snuggled his cheeks into the fur of the cloak and allowed himself to take another deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [About fireweeds](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chamerion_angustifolium)
> 
> And there's fanart. Radio made a series of lovely, perfect [drawings](http://radiorcrist.tumblr.com/post/98516924651/hi-i-like-this-fic-a-lot-its-by-hildyj-good) depicting the final moment of this chapter


	9. Chapter 9

Bilbo sneezed again and sniffled. He felt awful. One month of being confined within a mountain had made him vulnerable to the bitter cold outside. And one afternoon of traipsing up and down Erebor had been enough to bring him low. Winter weather had never bothered him back in Bag End. He almost prided himself on never being ill.

‘Are you sure you’re going to be alright on your own, Uncle Bilbo?’ Frodo said, bringing him another woollen blanket.

‘Yes, yes. You shouldn’t sit here and entertain me.’

Frodo smiled. ‘Thank you, Uncle Bilbo. I really want to see the mines.’

When Bilbo had woken up with a stuffy nose and a slight fever, he had had to send a message to his Majesty, cancelling the meeting between him and Frodo today. It wouldn’t be very beneficial to a courtship to conduct it to the sounds of a sneezing chaperone.

A short reply had returned expressing the King’s disappointment and wishing Bilbo a speedy recovery.

Shortly after, Fíli and Kíli had turned up, inviting Frodo on a tour of the lower mines.

‘Aren’t they still being excavated?’ Bilbo had said, wringing his hands ‘Isn’t it unsafe?’

‘Not the western mines,’ Fíli said. ‘They haven’t been touched for the last year. Dwarves use them for family trips on their days off.’ Bilbo wondered, that dwarves thought it a special treat to go even _further_ underground.

Kíli turned to Frodo. ‘You should see the Echo Cave, Frodo. Big enough for two Oliphaunts to stand on top of each other, and if you shout, you can hear nine different echoes at the same time.’

Frodo’s eyes couldn’t get any bigger, if he tried. He looked pleadingly at his Uncle.

Bilbo sighed. ‘Yes, alright, you can go.’

And now he was sitting alone in front of a warm fire. He sneezed again, grabbing for his handkerchief in his pocket. He stopped his hand moving to his nose, when he saw what he was holding. He stroked his fingers shortly over his mother’s embroidered B, and gently placed his favourite handkerchief on the table next to him. He shuffled back to his bedroom, getting a plain, white one from his dresser, and settled in front of the fireplace again.

A log broke in the flames, sending out sparks against the wrought-iron fireplace screen. Bilbo gathered his blankets around himself, sinking deeper into the high-backed chair. He rubbed his sore eyes and felt his forehead. Still a fever. Letting his head fall back to rest against the soft upholstery, his eyelids grew heavy…

‘Master Baggins?’

Bilbo twisted his head to the side of the chair, murmuring softly. He was lying on his back in a green field, surrounded by bird song, trying to make sense of the clouds above him.

‘Master Baggins?’

The large cloud straight in front of him was becoming a definite shape now. It had a large nose, long hair and…

‘Master Baggins?’

The light of the fire made him squint, as he opened his eyes slowly. There was a blurry figure leaning over him. Bilbo closed his eyes again. He was obviously still dreaming.

A small, hard thing lightly tapped against Bilbo’s cheek. His hand came up to brush it away. Were there beetles crawling around in this field? He grabbed hold of the offending object to study it closer.

‘Are you trying to steal my bead, Master Baggins?’

His eyes made an attempt at opening once again. The blurry vision in front of him started to come into focus, and long, dark hair seemed to be on both sides of him. There was a familiar scent. Was it his tea..?

The face in front of him became completely clear, and Bilbo wished he could return to his peaceful meadow immediately. King Thorin was leaning over his chair, and Bilbo was holding his Majesty close with a firm grip on one of his braids!

‘Oh!’ Bilbo quickly released it. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured.

‘No matter,’ the King said. ‘I obviously surprised you.’

King Thorin moved away to stand in front of the fire with his back to the hobbit, giving Bilbo some privacy. He sat up straighter in his chair, smoothing down the blankets around him. He quickly smoothed a hand through his curls and felt his cheeks. Still warm.

He glanced out of the window and noted how close the sun was to the horizon. He had slept most of the day away! The room was now cast in a golden light from the setting sun. It somehow seemed even more unreal than his dream.

‘What…’ Bilbo cleared his throat. ‘What are you doing here, your Majesty?’

‘I understood that you were ill. But apparently not at death’s door.’ The King turned back to the hobbit, his face unreadable.

Bilbo drew a deep breath. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ He gestured to the other chair in front of the fireplace, the one Frodo usually sat in during their evenings together.

‘Thank you.’ The King removed a bundle of books from the chair, which definitely hadn’t been there when Bilbo fell asleep, and sat down holding the volumes in his hands.

They sat in silence, listening to the crackle and hiss from the fire.

‘Frodo isn’t back yet.’ Bilbo finally said. ‘He went away with your nephews this morning.’

‘Yes, they’re going to dinner in the great hall. Last I saw them, they were discussing which would win in a fight: an oliphaunt or one of the great eagles. I think your nephew was betting on the oliphaunt.’ The King gave a small smile.

Bilbo looked down at his hands. ‘I’m sorry the appointment between you and Frodo was cancelled because of me.’

King Thorin hummed. ‘We’ll find time to meet again. When you’re feeling better, of course.’

The King fiddled slightly with the books in his hands. ‘I went by the library,’ he said ‘and Ori just happened to have found some more books written in Westron for you.’

Bilbo looked down at the books held in those large hands. He hadn’t been back in the library for almost a week, and he had finished his latest book last night.

‘And since I knew you were confined to your rooms,’ King Thorin continued. ‘I thought you would like some entertainment.’ He passed the books to Bilbo.

‘Thank you.’ Bilbo whispered and caressed the binding of the book on top of the pile. Perhaps it was his slightly feverish mind, but he felt incredibly grateful for this kindness.

‘That’s a romance about Ragnar and Thora.’ King Thorin leaned over and opened the book to its first page. There was an etching of a dwarf standing over a killed dragon with his spear raised triumphantly in the air.

‘Thora was a beautiful dwarrowdam with a full, red beard as smooth as silk. Her wealthy father was worried that she would be stolen away by men or elves before he found her a good dwarf to be her husband.’

‘He wasn’t worried about hobbits?’ Bilbo lifted his eyes from the etching and gave a teasing smile.

‘I don’t think any hobbit could bring a dwarrowdam where she did not want to be taken.’ King Thorin grinned.

‘If Thora is anything like Lady Dís, I don’t think many hobbits would dare!’ Bilbo replied and the King laughed.

‘Anyway,’ King Thorin continued, ‘Her father secluded her in a small cabin and gave her a freshly-hatched dragon to be her companion and protector. But he had underestimated the size to which dragons grew, and soon it was too big for the cabin. She had to keep it outside, while it kept growing and growing, until it completely surrounded her home, and kept everyone way, including her father. He was distraught at being separated from his cherished daughter, and promised her hand in marriage and her weight in gold and jewels to anyone – dwarf, man or even elf – who could kill the dragon and free the dwarrowdam.’

Bilbo relaxed back in his chair, listening attentively.

‘Of course, the story of the beautiful dwarrowdam trapped by the hideous beast went out to all the dwarven kingdoms, and a brave dwarf named Ragnar decided he could defeat the dragon and win the maiden.’ The King had leant forward towards Bilbo.

‘He covered his entire body, including his face, with warg fur dipped in tar and then sand. When he approached the dragon, the beast let loose a great roar of fire. But the flames didn’t touch Ragnar’s skin.’

‘Does that really work?’ Bilbo asked.

‘I don’t know. It worked for Ragnar. Will you let me finish the story?’ Thorin raised his eyebrows.

‘I’m pretty sure I know how it ends,’ Bilbo teased while pointing to the etching in front of him.

‘Yes, he vanquished the dragon with a thrust of his spear and waited for the grateful kiss of a rescued maiden. But when the door opened, he was faced with an infuriated dwarrowdam ready to kill the dwarf who had put a spear through her closest companion. A companion she had brought up from a hatchling. She had shared her food with the dragon, and given it a scratch under the chin every day of its life.’

Bilbo nodded. ‘Did she kill him then?’

‘There was a mighty duel between the two. Ragnar cut off Thora’s nose and most of her right cheek. In the end, though, Thora had Ragnar on the ground with a sword to his neck. The wounds on her face dripped blood on her would-be rescuer.’ King Thorin paused for effect. ‘But she turned around and walked away. And no one, not even her father, ever saw or heard from her again.’

Bilbo shook his head. ‘Serves him right! First he imprisoned his daughter, and then he promised her away to some random stranger. Good for Thora!’

His mind went back to the beginning of the story. ‘But I thought you said it was a romance?’

Thorin smiled. ‘It is. Between Thora and her dragon.’

Bilbo gave a short laugh and looked down at the books again. ‘Thank you again for these. It was more than I expected.’

‘You’re welcome.’ King Thorin murmured.

Bilbo suddenly sniffled loudly. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered while he tried to get at his handkerchief in his pocket with one hand and depositing the books on the table next to him with the other.

‘Here, let me.’ King Thorin said, while picking up Bilbo’s favourite handkerchief from the table and offering it to him.

‘Oh no. I don’t use that one.’ Bilbo said, as he finally found the plain handkerchief in his pocket and wiped his nose.

‘No?’ The King still held the soft fabric in his hand. ‘B for Bilbo Baggins?’ He asked.

‘And Bag End.’

‘Bag End?’ The King let his thumb glide over the B.

‘My home in the Shire.’ Bilbo’s voice had gone quiet. ‘My father built it for my mother when they married.’

‘He must have loved her very much.’ Thorin gazed into Bilbo’s eyes. ‘Do you miss it? Bag End, I mean.’

‘I…’

There was a loud knock at the door followed by a cheery ‘Hello! Are you decent, Bilbo?’

As Bilbo rose from his chair and turned around, he saw Bofur’s smiling face popping from behind the door. 

‘Hello, Bofur.’ He blinked rapidly, trying to move from the quiet moment with the King to greeting his friend with a smile.

‘I ran into Frodo, who said ye were feelin’ poorly. So I quickly went down to Bombur, and pestered him for a bowl o’ his finest chicken soup. And here I am!’

He presented a simple clay bowl filled to the brim with delicious-smelling soup. Bilbo walked to his friend, taking the food and placing it on a nearby table.

‘Thank you, Bofur. That was very kind of you.’ Bilbo smiled. Since their dinner together in the hobbits’ chambers, their friendship had only grown closer. Bofur was easy and carefree company, and was one of the few dwarves in Erebor who either didn’t ignore Bilbo completely or pestered him about the King’s courtship.

‘And,’ Bofur said, grabbing two bottles from his boots, ‘I brought something to wash it down.’ He waved the beers in front of Bilbo.

Bilbo laughed. ‘I’m not going to drink two whole bottles of dwarven ale, Bofur!’

‘That’s alright. I’ll keep you company.’ Bofur grinned and nudged Bilbo in the side.

‘Did you bring a bottle for me?’ A cold voice came from the fireplace, and King Thorin rose from the high-backed chair.

For the first time since Bilbo had known him, Bofur was genuinely taken by surprise. The usually unflappable dwarf stood there with his mouth hanging open. ‘Y-your Majesty.’ He made a clumsy bow.

Bilbo pressed his lips together in annoyance. He should have made Bofur aware of King Thorin’s presence earlier, but it still wasn’t right for the King to surprise the miner like that.

‘Your Majesty. May I present one of your miners? This is Master Bofur.’ He said.

The King nodded shortly. ‘Master Bofur.’

Bofur made another awkward bow, though Bilbo quickly pulled him up again. He held the dwarf’s arm to keep him grounded in front of the imposing King. Why couldn’t his Majesty just give a simple smile to make this whole situation more pleasant?

King Thorin stared at Bilbo’s hand clasping the miner’s arm. He pursed his lips. 

‘Right.’ He gazed down at his boots and looked back up. ‘Enjoy your soup and your pleasant company, Master Hobbit.’ The King brushed past Bofur and opened the door.

Bilbo called after him ‘Thank you for the books.’ He paused. ‘And the story of Thora and her dragon.’

King Thorin stopped with his hand on the door handle. Without turning around, he gave a short nod and went out the door.

Bilbo turned back to look at Bofur. He forced a smile. ‘Let me get at that soup before it goes cold!’

They took the soup and the ales to the chairs in front of the fire. Before Bofur could place the brimming bowl on the table between them, Bilbo carefully picked up his bundle of books and took them to his bedroom.

Before he rejoined Bofur, he placed the story of Thora on his bedside table. He opened it to the etching of Ragnar in that silly heroic pose.

Bilbo smiled. He hoped that Thora found someone to love in the end. Someone who was fine with her keeping dragons in the house. Someone who would love her even without her beauty, without her wealth, and without her family. Someone who wasn’t chosen for her by her father or any other dwarf. 

Bilbo hoped that the story somehow had a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adapted the story of Thora and her dragon from [The Tale of Ragnar's Sons](http://www.germanicmythology.com/FORNALDARSAGAS/ThattrRagnarsSonar.html)
> 
> And there's fanart for this chapter. Coww has created this beautiful [painting](http://shamingcows.tumblr.com/post/98809303013/a-most-sensible-idea-ch-9-by-hildyj-the-face-in) of Bilbo being woken up by Thorin.


	10. Chapter 10

Frodo had come back from the lower mines full of excitement, and was still talking about them several days later at breakfast. Bilbo’s fever had abated by then, and there was only the occasional sniffle.

‘And there are these spires going up from the ground towards the ceiling. Some of them are taller than twenty hobbits put on top of each other.’ Frodo stretched up his hands, but they were a poor substitute for the marvel he was describing. Instead he took another bite of his sausage.

‘You have to see them, Uncle Bilbo,’ Frodo continued, still chewing.

Bilbo nodded. He didn’t exactly relish the thought of going even more underground. But there was something in him that longed to see the sights Frodo was describing. Maybe it was his Tookish side coming out.

‘Alright,’ he said slowly, ‘When can we go?’

Frodo grinned. ‘I’m glad you said that, because we’re meeting Fíli, Kíli and King Thorin down there today.’

‘Frodo Baggins! Are you making appointments to meet your intended behind your chaperone’s back? What if I’d refused to go down to the mines? Would you have gone alone?’ Bilbo exaggerated his worry to impress upon his nephew the seriousness of the situation.

Frodo rolled his eyes. ‘We wouldn’t have been alone. Fíli and Kíli would have been there.’

‘And the two young princes obviously have an excellent sense of what is right and proper. Last time I saw them, they were rolling celeriac roots down the hallway by the kitchens, seeing who could get them the farthest!’

Frodo giggled. ‘Really? They have to show me that game!’

Bilbo crossed his arms and gave his nephew a look. Frodo ducked his head, but he couldn’t stop smiling.

Bilbo sighed. There was a possibility of seeing the King again. He still remembered those quiet moments in front of the fire in his room. But King Thorin’s blunt farewell also flashed through his mind. Maybe he would be different today…

‘Well, you’re very lucky, my lad.’ He said as he took a final bite of his toast. ‘Because I’m coming with you.’

 

X—X

 

‘Watch your step, it’s slippery down here.’ King Thorin held out his hand for Frodo to grab while he was descending the final steps of the stairs into the lower mines. Youthful swagger made the hobbit ignore the outstretched hand and jump that last step. He grinned when Fíli and Kíli, who were waiting in front of them, laughed in approval.

Bilbo shook his head. One day that lad is going to split his head in two and then what’ll he do? His own walk was more careful and measured, keeping his head down to watch the steps in front of him. Suddenly a large hand entered his field of vision.

‘Master Baggins?’ The King looked up at him.

Bilbo quickly licked his lips. ‘Thank you,’ he said as he lightly grabbed the outstretched fingers. There was a temptation to slide his hand in to rest in the palm of that strong one, but Bilbo ruthlessly ignored it. He could feel a heavy iron ring on one of King Thorin’s fingers. It had been warmed by his Majesty’s skin.

Once he was safely down, Bilbo quickly drew away from the King. He reflexively put his right hand in his pocket, trying to preserve some of that heat.

King Thorin turned around to their three young companions. ‘Master Frodo,’ he said. ‘I know my nephews have shown you the Echo Cave, but I bet they haven’t shown you the Cave of Stars.’

Frodo shook his head. 

‘Allow me to show it to you then.’ King Thorin gestured down a small passageway along an underground lake. Frodo glanced back at his two friends but stayed at his Majesty’s side as they walked away.

‘Well,’ Fíli said. ‘We’d better keep up so we don’t get lost down here’

Bilbo walked with a brother on either side of him. They kept their eyes peeled ahead of them, trying to keep track of Frodo and the King through the twisting passages. Fíli and Kíli each carried a torch, as did King Thorin. Otherwise there was no source of light this far underground.

‘Is it true that you can hear nine different echoes in a cave down here?’ Bilbo smiled politely at the young dwarves. 

‘Oh yes!’ Kíli nodded. ‘You should have heard Frodo shouting when he was down here. He knew a lot of great words!’ He grinned conspiratorially at his brother over Bilbo’s head.

The hobbit rolled his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time a rude word had excited him like it did these young dwarves.

‘Do you like being around Frodo then?’ Bilbo asked.

‘Frodo’s great!’ Kíli said while Fíli added, ‘It’s going to be so much fun when he and Uncle get married. Then we can be together all the time!’

‘You know, it’s not certain that they’ll get married.’ Bilbo said slowly.

‘We know.’ Kíli said, ‘But we hope they will. We always talk up Uncle’s good qualities when we’re around Frodo.’

‘Though there aren’t many to speak of!’ Fíli laughed

‘What do you mean?’ Bilbo looked down at the cave floor as he frowned.

Kíli stopped grinning and paused. ‘Well, he’s a bit grumpy, isn’t he? Doesn’t talk a lot and he’s always busy.’

‘He’s in charge of an entire kingdom. I can’t think of anything more demanding.’ Bilbo flexed his fingers at his sides. 

‘So was grandpa Thrain, but he still had time to put us on his knee and tell us stories.’ Fíli said. Bilbo smiled as he was reminded of Thora and her dragon.

‘And was married and had three children.’ Kíli supplied.

‘That’s why we want Frodo to marry Uncle,’ Fíli concluded. ‘Maybe he’ll tempt the old dwarf away from his office and get him out more. This courtship has already done a world of difference to Uncle’s mood.’

‘Yes,’ Kíli said. ‘He’s less…snappish these days.’

Bilbo took all this in. Was this true? Was being around Frodo making his Majesty a more calm and sociable dwarf? Maybe the courtship was moving in the right direction then. He drew a deep breath. That should be a good thing. So why did it make him feel like he just had the wind knocked out of him?

He looked ahead, trying to find King Thorin’s torch in the darkness, but it was no where to be seen. 

‘Where’s the King? Where’s Frodo?’ He turned to his two companions with worry in his eyes.

‘Oh,’ Fíli frowned. ‘They must be near by. Let’s hurry.’

The two dwarves and the hobbit didn’t speak as they walked quickly through the winding passageways. There was no sound but their laboured breathing and the slap of Bilbo’s feet against the bare stone. But no matter how fast they moved, they couldn’t catch a glimpse of the other pair.

‘Maybe they turned off further back.’ Kíli said. ‘I think we should turn around.’ He gestured with his torch behind them.

‘No, I’m sure the Cave of Stars is just up ahead.’ Fíli replied. ‘We have to keep going forward.’ He put his hand on Bilbo’s back, imploring the hobbit to come with him.

‘Listen!’ Bilbo interrupted them. He could hear a faint sound of music coming from the other side of a wall. ‘People!’ He smiled at the brothers.

They followed the noise of laughter and song until they reached a small clearing. It was a group of miners in a circle, taking a break from their work and puffing on pipes. All of them were covered in dust, their brows glistening with sweat. A few had struck up an impromptu band. There was a dwarf blowing a cheerful tune through a harmonica, while others slapped their thighs and stomped their feet. And in the middle was Bofur, singing a bawdy tavern song as he moved back and forth inside the circle.

Bilbo and the two brothers stood at the edge of the gathering unnoticed until Bofur, having completed a verse of the song, spotted them.

‘Bilbo Baggins!’ He called out and pushed aside two dwarves in the circle to get to him. The music kept going round and round.

‘Bofur!’ Bilbo shouted to be heard over the din of harmonica playing and general chatting.

Bofur was bobbing up and down to the beating tempo. He grinned at the hobbit. ‘Come on!’ he said and grabbed Bilbo’s hand. He was pulled into the circle to the wild applause and hooting from the other miners. Before he knew what was happening, Bofur had him in a firm embrace and moved him about to the rhythm of the music.

Bilbo felt like he was being constantly spun around, and the light from the torches and the faces of the dwarves around him seemed to converge into a single blur filling his vision. He thought he could make out the stunned faces of the princes at one point, but he wasn’t sure.

The music finally stopped, and he pushed away from the dwarf. Bofur grinned and bowed at his loud audience, but when he caught sight of Bilbo’s knitted brow, he halted his performing persona.

He stooped to whisper in the hobbit’s ear, trying to ignore the way Bilbo flinched slightly away. ‘Sorry, Bilbo. Just thought it’d be a bit o’ fun.’

Bilbo crossed his arms. ‘Well, ask next time before you do something like that.’

Bofur gave him a cautious smile, but it wasn’t returned. He cleared his throat. ‘What are ye doin’ down here anyway?’ Several of the other miners stopped their chats to hear Bilbo’s answer.

‘I’m lost,’ he glanced over his shoulder to Fíli and Kíli. ‘We’re lost.’

The two princes moved closer to the light of the circle, and the talk completely stopped. There were whispers of ‘the princes…’, ‘something wrong…’, and ‘…doing inspections’.

Fíli went to stand next to Bilbo. ‘We’re looking for the Cave of Stars,’ he said, ‘Do any of you know how to find it from here?’ His tone of voice had changed from his normally playful one, and for the first time Bilbo could imagine him as an heir to a great kingdom.

An older miner with a bent nose from many breaks stood up. ‘I know where it is,’ he said, while rolling the head of his pipe between his fingers.

Fíli nodded. ‘Will you show us the way?’

The miner sucked his teeth. ‘Alright.’ He walked out of the circle, the others quickly moving out of his way, and started down the path from which Fíli, Kíli, and Bilbo had come.

Bofur grabbed Bilbo’s hand before he left. ‘Is everything, you know, alright?’ He chewed his lip as he waited for the hobbit’s answer.

Bilbo sighed. Bofur sometimes had sudden, exasperating urges to do or say whatever he felt, but Bilbo couldn’t stay mad at him. 

The hobbit gave a small, reassuring smile to his friend and squeezed his hand before turning away from him and following the miner and the two princes.

The trip was quick but quiet. The miner had no torch but led the group through the narrow passages with no hesitation. Bilbo was at the back of the group, and all he could see of their guide was the glow from the pipe clenched between his teeth.

The path widened, and they were in a large, empty cave. The dwarves stopped.

‘Here it is,’ the miner turned and made to walk back the way he came.

Kíli called after him. ‘Are you sure? But there’s nobody here!’

The older dwarf shrugged. ‘In all my years, this has been the Cave of Stars. Now, unless any of your highnesses have decided to move it, it’s _still_ the Cave of Stars.’ He bit down on his pipe once more and left.

Bilbo wrung his hands. Some chaperone he turned out to be. For all his talk of propriety and manners, he had left his young nephew completely alone with a courting dwarf. And now they were both missing in an underground maze.

Kíli straightened. ‘I’ll go look for them.’

‘No,’ Fíli stood in front of him. ‘You don’t know this part of the mines well enough to find them, and then _I’ll_ have to go look for you. And I know these mines even less than you.’ He smiled, ‘And where would that leave poor Master Baggins?’

‘He’s right,’ Bilbo said, ‘The King said, that we were going to this cave. We have to treat it like a meeting place and wait for their return.’ He sat down on a large rock.

Kíli sighed and started moving restlessly throughout the open space. Fíli stood next to entrance, shining his torch into the passageway, signalling their presence.

Bilbo drew shapes in the dirt with his toes. Frodo would be alright. Of course, he would be alright. He thought back to how King Thorin had looked in front of the fire that night in his rooms, his hair lit up from behind by the flames. How he had smiled gently as he had handed Bilbo that small pile of books. That was not how a despoiler of young hobbits looked. 

He glanced down, and noticed that he had been drawing a row of eight-pointed stars. He went over them with his foot, erasing the shapes in the dirt.

Bilbo didn’t know how long they had waited when Fíli suddenly called out, ‘I think that’s them,’ and there was a definite sound of footsteps in the dark.

He stood up and waited. The light in the opening grew stronger, and then Frodo was standing at the mouth of the cave with the King behind him holding a torch aloft.

‘Frodo!’ Bilbo stood up and moved to his nephew. ‘Are you alright?’ He grabbed Frodo’s arms and studied his face closely.

‘I’m alright, Uncle Bilbo. After all, I’m not the one who got lost.’ He looked over his uncle’s shoulder at Fíli and Kíli.

Frodo smiled at his friends. ‘I thought you said you knew these mines like the back of your hands.’ They laughed and gave him a welcoming slap on the back, as he went to stand next to them.

‘Maybe we stopped for lunch on the way,’ Kíli said. He couldn’t stop smiling at Frodo.

Bilbo shook his head fondly at their carefree ways. Maybe he would mention to Frodo later how Kíli hadn’t been able to stop moving from nerves, or how Fíli had constantly licked his lips while shining a light into the darkness.

‘I went looking for you.’ King Thorin’s deep voice sounded as he stopped next to Bilbo. The torch in his right hand shaded the other side of his face, and the hobbit couldn’t read his expression.

‘You found us.’ Bilbo didn’t know what else to say.

Frodo glanced between his uncle and his friends. ‘What happened to you? One minute you were just behind us and then you were gone.’

Fíli shrugged. ‘We must have taken a wrong turn.’ He glanced at Bilbo. ‘And it didn’t help that we suddenly had to attend a party with Master Bilbo’s friends.’

Frodo smiled. ‘Friends?’ He turned to his uncle. ‘Is Bofur down here as well?’

Bilbo felt the King stiffening slightly beside him. 

‘We met some miners on a break,’ he explained, ‘and one of them helped us find this place.’

King Thorin shifted slightly. ‘Well, now that we’re all here, we might as well explore the cave.’

He walked to the centre, where a large iron cauldron was situated. There, the King threw down his torch with more force than strictly necessary, and whatever was in that container caught fire immediately.

The light spread throughout the cave within a blink of an eye, and the darkness that had flattened everything around them seemed to be brought to life. Above them thousands of stars glinted and the curved stone seemed at once soft and warm. 

‘Oh,’ Bilbo breathed out. He walked to the nearest wall, expecting to see gems embedded in the rock. But close up it looked like ordinary grey stone.

‘It’s odd, isn’t it?’ King Thorin said behind him. ‘The dwarves who discovered this cave thought they had found a new and valuable jewel to mine and to sell.’

The King stretched out a hand over Bilbo’s shoulder and brushed against the wall. ‘But when they cut out a piece of the rock and brought it back up to the surface, the star light gradually faded from the separated part, and all they had left was a worthless piece of stone.’

Bilbo looked at those strong fingers feeling the rock in front of him. The King continued, ‘It was like it could only shine down here in the darkness, and any attempt to part it from its foundation would destroy whatever made it beautiful.’

Bilbo dipped his head back, looking up again at the starry heaven above them. The top of his curls brushed against the King’s shoulder before the dwarf quickly moved back. Bilbo’s cheeks felt warm. He didn’t realize they had been standing so close.

‘Uncle Bilbo, look here.’ Frodo waved him over.

‘Doesn’t that look like the Burning Briar?’ he said as he pointed to seven bright points on the arched ceiling.

Bilbo squinted. ‘I believe it does. How extraordinary that constellations of the sky are mirrored down here.’

‘And I still say it looks like Durin’s Crown,’ Kíli huffed.

Bilbo smiled. ‘They’re one and the same. It’s just that hobbits don’t need to name everything after themselves!’ 

Fíli laughed behind him. ‘No, hobbits just walk around with evidence of their latest amorous encounter left on their very nice jacket!’ He nudged Kíli who joined in the giggling.

‘What?’ Bilbo made a half-turn where he stood, trying to catch a glimpse of what they were seeing on him.

King Thorin came up behind his nephews. ‘You have dirty handprints on your jacket, Master Hobbit.’ His tone was carefully neutral but when Bilbo looked back at him, his lips were pressed firmly together.

‘Oh dear,’ he said, as he quickly shed his jacket and slapped the thick fabric, trying to dislodge some of the dust and the dirt.

Kíli snickered. ‘That’s why we were always warned against consorting with miners; they get so awfully _handsy!_ ’

Fíli continued, ‘Yes, better check your trousers as well, Master Baggins. We don’t know where else that Bofur fellow might have grabbed you!’ The brothers both dissolved into loud guffaws as Bilbo’s cheeks flushed.

‘Fíli! Kíli! Behave yourselves!’ King Thorin’s voice echoed throughout the cavern. He made a sound almost like a growl and marched to the iron cauldron. He picked his torch up and went to the opening of the cave.

‘We’re going back,’ was all he said before striding away. The four others quickly scrambled after him, and wound up walking in silence behind the unwavering king.

‘Don’t mind him, Frodo,’ Fíli whispered to the young hobbit. ‘He gets like that sometimes, but it soon passes.’

‘It’s alright,’ Frodo whispered back.

‘But there’s usually a reason,’ Kíli murmured next to him. ‘And Uncle normally knows how to recognize a harmless joke.’

Both of the young dwarves glanced at Bilbo walking behind them. He ignored their looks and craned his head to watch the King in front of them. His Majesty walked with purpose though his shoulders seemed unnaturally stiff, like he was trying to restrain every single movement of his body. 

Bilbo looked down at King Thorin’s hands and swallowed nervously. They were clenched into tight, unyielding fists.


	11. Chapter 11

The King didn’t speak much to Bilbo after that day in the lower mines.

In the following weeks, Frodo still got regular invitations to outings and meetings with King Thorn, and Bilbo still followed his nephew like a shadow on all of these. But whenever Bilbo made a comment to the King, maybe even tried to start a conversation, he was met with polite, monosyllabic responses and nothing more.

The latest appointment between King Thorin and his intended had been in Lady Dís’s chambers, where Bilbo and Frodo had enjoyed tea with the Lady and her brother.

They had been sitting there for over an hour, making well mannered conversation, while the plate of sliced cake had been reduced to crumbs. Bilbo could feel Frodo moving about impatiently in his seat next to him. He gave a quick glance to the two dwarves on the other side of the table, hoping they hadn’t noticed his nephew’s restlessness.

Cups clinking against saucers was the only sound in the room. Bilbo took a final sip of tea and looked up, noticing King Thorin’s gaze moving away from him to rest on Frodo.

‘Master Frodo,’ he said, ‘I hear from my nephews that your fighting skills are improving.’

‘Yes,’ Frodo nodded eagerly, ‘They even found a real sword for me to use. Well, it’s a dagger they bought in Dale, but it looks like a sword.’

‘Master Dwalin is also teaching him how to sharpen and care for his weapon,’ Bilbo interjected, but the King’s eyes remained fixed on Frodo. The only sign that he had even _heard_ Bilbo, was a tightening of his lips.

‘I’d like to see how far you’ve come in your training.’ The King said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. ‘I train with my sister at sunrise before our work begins. Would you join us one morning?’

‘Oh.’ Frodo paused ‘Will Fíli and Kì- I mean, will the princes be there as well?’

‘Not likely!’ Lady Dís laughed. ‘Only a pack of wild wargs would force them out of bed that early! And even then Kíli would try to keep them away with his bow and arrow as long as possible before being forced to leave his warm blanket.’ 

Bilbo looked down at his empty plate and gave a small smile. Yes, the lads were a bit silly and irresponsible, more so than Frodo, even though they were older than him. But he loved seeing his nephew in their company. Frodo laughed more freely with them, and they shared his curiosity and thirst for adventure. Bilbo was glad that his nephew had found someone to have fun with in this mountain, instead of sitting on a soft chair with his uncle all day, waiting for a king to pay his attentions.

Frodo hadn’t given his answer yet, so Bilbo cleared his throat to say, ‘We would be happy to join your Majesty and you, my Lady, in your training.’ He looked at the King who took a long, slow sip from his cup. Bilbo continued, ‘Any morning in particular?’

Lady Dís glanced at her brother expectantly but when no reply came, she said, ‘Come on any day you like. We’re always there. You see, I need to keep this one fit to fight,’ gesturing to the King, ‘So he can handle his council of advisors when they’re being too demanding!’ She grinned, inviting her brother to share in the joke, but he remained stone-faced next to her.

Bilbo pursed his lips. What was the matter with King Thorin? After the princes’ jokes about Bilbo, Bofur, and grabby miners, The King had coldly walked away without saying a word to him. He had reacted similarly that night Bofur had brought soup to Bilbo. 

A sudden thought entered Bilbo’s head that made him frown. Maybe _his Majesty_ didn’t want to stay in the company of a simple miner any longer than necessary. He had been so talkative and, well, nice when Bilbo had been alone with him. But at the first sight of Bofur, the King had grown cold, almost growling his greeting to Bilbo’s friend.

And now King Thorin was ignoring Bilbo completely.

Maybe he was reconsidering this courtship entirely? Maybe he didn’t want to be tied to a family of hobbits who enjoyed the company of miners and labourers? Bilbo exhaled a short breath in annoyance. Well, good riddance! He wouldn’t want his favourite nephew tied to such a snobby, old king. 

But every time he thought about never seeing or talking to King Thorin again, there was this gnawing feeling behind his ribs. He swallowed, trying to push it down into his stomach.

‘Frodo, I wanted to show you something,’ Lady Dís said, and she stood up from the table. ‘Come with me.’

Frodo followed her quickly, obviously grateful that he was no longer confined to his seat at the table.

After they left the room, the King quickly stood up and moved to look out of a window.

Bilbo took out his favourite handkerchief and started folding it again and again. The fabric seemed softer every time he touched it, and he let it glide through his fingers in silence.

‘I think we’re going to get more snow tonight.’ Bilbo said. He may be puzzled by this king’s behaviour, but he still had the good manners of a gentle-hobbit.

‘Hm.’ King Thorin folded his hands behind his back.

Let’s see if I can provoke him a little, Bilbo thought. ‘We might even get a blizzard one of the coming days. At least that’s what Bofur says.’ Bilbo paused, waiting for a reaction, as he still played with his handkerchief.

The King stood straighter. ‘Did he?’ His tone was neutral.

Bilbo was now desperate for some kind of reaction. ‘Do you remember Bofur? I introduced you to him some weeks ago?’

‘I do.’ King Thorin flexed his fingers.

Bilbo spread the handkerchief out on the table in front of him. The entirety of the green border was visible, and he brushed one finger lightly over the embroidered leaves.

‘Yes, I’m glad I have Bofur here in Erebor,’ he murmured, ‘Otherwise, it would be very easy to feel lonely so far away from my home.’ Please talk to me, Bilbo thought, as he looked at the back of the King’s head. I miss our talks… 

King Thorin turned around and stared at Bilbo with eyes full of heat. ‘Is he going back with you to the Shire? To Bag End?’ He glanced at the handkerchief on the table.

Bilbo blinked rapidly. ‘I don’t-’

‘Because if he is, I will need to send word to the Iron Mountains, asking them to give Erebor more of their miners.’ The King straightened and looked away from Bilbo.

‘Or maybe you’re staying here in Erebor?’ He turned back to lean against the window sill. His head drooped a little between his tense shoulders.

Bilbo wrinkled his forehead. What was this dwarf talking about? ‘Why do you think I-’ 

‘Uncle Bilbo, look at this.’ Frodo hurried into the room clutching a small frame in his hands, and placed it on top of Bilbo’s handkerchief.

Bilbo tore his eyes away from King Thorin and turned his gaze to the painting in front of him. It was a small family portrait of four dwarves, two children and two adults. He recognized Lady Dís immediately and could guess that the two dwarflings – one light, one dark – were Fíli and Kíli. But he hadn’t seen the male dwarf before.

Lady Dís came up behind him. She leant on the table and gently brushed her fingers along the frame of the picture.

She spoke quietly. ‘It’s odd how much my memory of him is slowly matching this picture. I _know_ he had larger braids and more wrinkles around his eyes when he died, but I think of him more and more as that carefree, young father you see here.’ She sighed and sat down.

Bilbo studied the portrait of the Lady’s husband. He was sitting with Kíli on his lap, a broad hand around the lad’s waist holding him securely against his father’s chest. Though father and son were of different colouring, they had matching, mischievous expressions. Fíli stood next to them, a serious expression on his young face; though Bilbo thought he could see a smile almost breaking through. Dís was standing behind her son with a hand on his shoulder.

‘You have a lovely family, my Lady.’ Bilbo murmured.

She gave a small smile. ‘Yes, I do.’ They sat in silence for a while, and Bilbo pretended not to notice the glistening of the Lady’s eyes.

The King had moved to stand behind his sister, slowly moving a hand down her long hair. His gaze was soft as he looked at the painting. Bilbo had missed that gentle blue colour. He hadn’t seen it since that evening in front of the fireplace, and he wanted to say something - anything - just to have the light of those eyes rest on him for one moment. 

‘Do you have any paintings of yourself, your Majesty?’ Bilbo shook his head the moment he said it. Stupid! Why did he say that? Of course, a great king would have paintings of himself. He probably has one for every year of his life!

But the King didn’t notice the hobbit’s agitation. At the sound of Bilbo’s voice, he closed his eyes, banishing the view of the happy family picture. His forehead knotted as if he was in great pain, and his voice was rough and low. ‘Yes, I do.’

King Thorin squeezed his sister’s shoulder once, and silently returned to the window, his back to the other people in the room.

Bilbo stared after him and swallowed drily. He had driven the King away. _How_ had he driven the King away? Bilbo sighed. They would never more share silly chats about flowers or fairy tales or anything. King Thorin kept him at such a distance now, that he would never feel the almost-touch of that deep voice on his sensitive ears, nor allow himself to breathe in the King’s scent when walking beside him. 

His chest felt hollow, and he was suddenly very tired. The King would never notice him again. Bilbo sat quietly in his chair, still holding the frame of the painting.

He felt a light touch on his hand. It was Frodo. He gave his uncle a questioning look, but it was returned with a slight shake of the head.

Frodo turned his attention to Lady Dís, affecting a cheery manner. ‘I didn’t know dwarves grew beards that young,’ he said, pointing at the young Fíli and Kíli.

She quickly wiped her eyes and looked up from her perusal of the painting. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, ‘We’re born with small, wispy beards. Though some take a bit longer growing a full beard than others.’ She caressed the picture of Kíli slowly.

‘Dís.’ The King’s voice came from the window. ‘Remember tomorrow night.’

‘Yes.’ She frowned slightly at her brother, and turned to the hobbits. ‘Yes, we’re having a small dinner tomorrow night, where most of the high ranking officials and their husbands and wives will be attending.’ 

She smiled at Frodo. ‘I would like it if you could come as well. It would be easier if they were all presented to the King’s intended simultaneously.’

Frodo looked unsure, his hand still grabbing his uncle’s on the table. The Lady glanced at it and seemed to understand. 

‘My sons will be there as well. So you won’t be left alone with the old and the infirm like your uncle and me.’ She winked at Bilbo who returned it with a polite smile.

Frodo grinned at her. He knew when he was being teased. ‘Thank you, my Lady. We’ll be delighted to attend your dinner.’ 

That was a bit of an exaggeration, Bilbo thought. He already dreaded the prospect of spending an evening making small talk with self-important diplomats and officers, while Frodo could joke around with his friends. 

No, that wasn’t even the worst part. The absolute worst was to spend an evening looking at his Majesty from afar, wishing he could do something to make the King smile at him again.

 

X—X

 

‘Why is King Thorin ignoring you?’ 

Frodo ruffled a hand through his curls. Bilbo had completely given up on taming the lad’s locks before any important social event and now just concentrated on making himself presentable.

‘He isn’t.’ Bilbo looked away from his nephew and straightened his jacket once more.

‘Then why does he only say “yes” or “no” anytime you talk to him?’ Frodo slumped down in the nearest chair. ‘Most of the time he just says nothing at all.’

‘Well, he doesn’t need to talk to a chaperone. I really should just sit quietly in the corner of the room whenever you two meet.’ Bilbo’s voice was strained and he kept pulling on his waistcoat. Why wouldn’t the blasted thing lie flat?

‘But you _like_ talking to King Thorin’

‘This isn’t about what I like.’ Bilbo gave up on the waistcoat, but he started moving around the room, his eyes looking at anything but his nephew. ‘Do _you_ like talking to him?’

‘He’s alright. You know, nice if a bit formal.’ Frodo sat forward, his hands dangling between his knees. ‘It’s sort of like being placed next to a distant uncle at a family party. People expect you to have a special connection, even if you know very little about each other and don’t have very much in common.’

Bilbo stopped circling the room. ‘That’s how you describe being courted by Thorin Oakenshield? Like being forced to chat with an ageing relative?’ 

‘Yes.’ Frodo sat up straighter. ‘And it’s duller when he’s ignoring you, Uncle Bilbo. You used to distract him with talk when I had to meet with him.’

Bilbo rubbed his forehead and sighed. Distract him… ‘Maybe we should just leave. Go back to Bag End and tell Fortinbras that the courtship didn’t succeed.’ And then I can finally relax again, he thought.

‘What?!’ Frodo bolted out of his chair. ‘We can’t!’

Bilbo finally looked at his nephew again. ‘Why not? Don’t tell me you’ll _miss_ his Majesty?’

Frodo tried to stare his uncle down. ‘No, not King Thorin. But Fíli? And Kíli? I’ve only just met them and now you want to force me away from the best friends I’ve ever had?’

‘You have friends back in the Shire.’ Bilbo looked away. He felt like a tyrant from a fairy tale, kidnapping the hero away from his companions.

Frodo crossed his arms in front of him, and Bilbo was seized by the feeling that he was looking into a mirror. ‘We promised we’d stay until I came of age. We have to keep our promises. We have to!’

Bilbo felt angry. ‘Why? So you can go through the motions of a courtship with the King, while escaping as soon as possible to play games with your friends? So I can spend the next months pretending that everything is fine when nothing’s fine?!’

‘Why are you overreacting?!’ Frodo was shouting as well. ‘Just because some stupid old dwarf has stopped talking to you, you think you have the right to force me back to the Shire. Well, I’m not going!’ Frodo stomped off to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

Bilbo collapsed into the nearest chair. He hadn’t had a fight like this with Frodo for a long time.

Being in Erebor seemed to make his feelings more heightened. He was a proper and restrained hobbit in the Shire. Bilbo rubbed his eyes. Yes, he never felt anything this intensely back in Bag End.

There was a knock at the door. Time for dinner.

 

X—X

 

Frodo didn’t speak one word to his uncle as they followed a servant to the smaller dining hall. Bilbo tried to catch his gaze, tried to communicate some form of goodwill to his nephew, but the young hobbit kept his eyes fixed straight ahead until they reached their destination.

They entered and were at once overwhelmed with the sounds and sights of a multitude of dwarves. Gold and jewels glinted from hair, beard and clothes all around them. Bilbo looked down at his own plain jacket and waistcoat with nary a piece of embroidery in sight. 

All this for a small dinner? If Bilbo didn’t think better of Lady Dís, he would have thought this was a surprise wedding between Frodo and King Thorin.

As the door closed behind them, there was an audible hush in the room as several dwarves turned around to peer at the two hobbits. Bilbo pressed his lips together in annoyance and craned his neck, trying to get a glimpse of anyone familiar.

He soon got his wish, when he saw Balin hurrying through the gathering towards the new arrivals.

‘Master Frodo and Master Baggins,’ he said, ‘Welcome.’ He gave a satisfied nod. ‘We are starting to sit down to dinner, so please allow me to take you to your seats.’

‘Thank you,’ Bilbo gave a polite smile and they followed the advisor.

There were three long tables placed in a sort of horseshoe shape. People were beginning to find their places, and Bilbo noticed the princes sitting at the table in the middle. Well, at least Frodo will be happy, he thought grudgingly.

Balin stopped by a seat at the table on the right. ‘This is your place, Master Baggins.’ Bilbo made to say something but was interrupted by the dwarf. ‘Will you follow me, Master Frodo?’

The advisor and the young hobbit walked away. Bilbo tried calling after his nephew, but he received no response. He reluctantly sat down and followed their progress up to the middle table where Frodo was placed to the right of the King’s empty seat. 

Bilbo swallowed. This whole affair suddenly felt a lot more official and important than he had expected. He tried to establish eye contact with Frodo, worried that his nephew was in over his head much more than he realized, but the other hobbit was currently leaning over the King’s chair, chatting with Fíli and Kíli on the other side.

Bilbo crossed his arms in front of him, looking about the room. He felt a dwarf sitting down on his right side, but Bilbo only gave them a quick glance. Except there was something very familiar about that dwarf. He looked back.

The hat was missing, the clothes were a little less worn, and the braids were no longer sticking out in a jaunty angle. But it was definitely Bofur sitting next to Bilbo with a sheepish smile.

‘Hello.’ That was all Bilbo was able to say at first.

‘Hello,’ Bofur ducked his head. ‘Bet ye didn’ think ye’d see me here.’

Bilbo could only nod. ‘But why are you here?’ He thought about it. ‘Are you the representative of the miners?’

Bofur laughed. ‘Nah, I don’ think the lads would trust me to fetch lunch, let alone represen’ ‘em at a posh dinner!’

He sobered again. ‘I’m here to keep you company.’

‘Keep me company? But I’ve been to several of these dull dinners without you showing up.’ Bilbo looked back at the head table and noted that King Thorin still hadn’t entered the room.

‘I don’ know what changed, but the clerk who invited me said I was to come as your “special companion”.’ Bofur raised his eyebrows at the hobbit.

‘My spe-’ Bilbo didn’t know what to make of this. And his train of thought was disrupted by the arrival of King Thorin and Lady Dís. The guests all stood up, Bofur trailing a little behind the others, and watched brother and sister take their places on either side of Frodo. Before the King sat down, he took Frodo’s right hand and kissed it shortly. There’s was a murmuring of approval all around the room, but Bilbo could see the embarrassed flush in Frodo’s cheeks even from where he was sitting. He wrung his hands under the table.

As dinner moved along, Bilbo tried to divide his attentions between Bofur on his right, the dwarf on his left with the ineffectual ear trumpet (‘I’m from the _Shire!_ I’m _not_ for _hire!_ ’), and staring at the conversation between Frodo and King Thorin.

Though there wasn’t a lot to see. The two at the head table seemed to pass small comments back and forth between each other, while Frodo kept his eyes on his plate and the King gazed out into the room. At one point King Thorin placed his right hand on the table next to Frodo’s. A bit later they shared a smile.

Bilbo turned away from the head table. It shouldn’t bother him. It didn’t bother him. He’d given Frodo the chance to get away from this courtship, and the boy had thrown it back in his face. Frodo was on his own now. Alone with King Thorin.

‘Ye worry too much about ‘im.’ Bofur speared a piece of potato with his fork.

‘What? No, I don’t. I hardly think about the King.’ Bilbo put his cutlery down a little too hard.

Bofur gave him a look. ‘I meant Frodo.’

‘Oh,’ He tried to straighten a wrinkle in the table cloth. ‘Well, I’m here to look out for him.’

‘I don’ think the King is goin’ to throw ‘im across the table ‘n’ ravish ‘im in front o’ all these respectable dwarves.’ Bofur grinned. ‘Or maybe he is. I’m jus’ a simple miner; I’ve never been invited to this kinda party before.’

‘That’s not funny, Bofur.’ Bilbo held eye contact with his friend.

‘No, I’m sorry.’ Bofur smoothed down his braids. ‘But it’s also not funny to be yer “special companion” and see ye stare at someone else the whole evening.’

Bilbo ducked his head and paused while he thought about what Bofur had said. ‘Why do you think the clerk used that term?’

Bofur looked away. ‘Special companion? Don’ know. She said she came from that grand advisor’s office.’

Bilbo looked across the room then to see Balin moving along the tables.

‘Excuse me,’ Bilbo murmured, as he quickly stood up and waylaid the elderly advisor on his walk through the room.

‘Master Baggins,’ Balin smiled. ‘Are you enjoying the food?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Bilbo licked his lips. ‘Master Balin, why has Master Bofur been invited to this dinner?’

‘You mean the miner? Well, after I heard about you and him, I thought it would please you to have him with you on such an important day for you nephew.’

Bilbo frowned. ‘Me and him?’

‘Yes,’ Balin’s smile faded as he studied the hobbit. ‘Oh, have things already turned sour between you two?’ Bilbo blinked rapidly at this turn in the conversation. 

The dwarf continued, ‘I did hope that you having a special connection to Erebor would have encouraged Master Frodo to forge one as well. Maybe you can patch things up with the miner?’

Balin patted Bilbo encouragingly on the back and moved on to talk to another dwarf.

The hobbit looked back at Bofur. The dwarf seemed to be deliberately avoiding his gaze, his eyes fixed on his plate. Bilbo felt cold and the tips of his fingers were numb. 

Bilbo closed his eyes shortly. He had never felt so alone in his life. His friendship with Bofur, which had been a constant source of comfort, had become something else, something confused. Something which Bilbo was too frightened to face right now.

He heard a laugh behind him, and he turned to witness Fíli gesturing wildly, while his brother, Frodo, and the King laughed loudly. Frodo was leaning on the King’s armrest to hear the story, his face close to King Thorin’s. 

As if he felt the heat of Bilbo’s gaze, the King turned his face towards the hobbit, a smile still curving his lips. But when he noticed Bilbo standing as if frozen in the middle of the floor, the smile dropped. The dwarf sat straighter and returned to the conversation going on around him.

But that brief acknowledgment and then rejection had shook the hobbit to his very core. The feelings it brought out in him were at once strange and familiar. 

Bilbo had unconsciously cut up King Thorin into manageable parts that he could allow himself to admire: his voice, his eyes, his smile, his hands, his kindness, and…

And now all the parts gathered together before Bilbo’s eyes, and it showed him one thing: love. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now it was blindingly obvious. It was the very absence of the King’s regard which showed him how deeply he craved it.

_Love_. Bilbo wanted to laugh, but the hollow feeling in his chest wouldn’t let him. What a ridiculous moment to finally fall in love.

Because there they were: the dwarf and the hobbit, the king and his intended, Bilbo’s beloved and Bilbo’s nephew. Two people who the entire world wanted to see together. Two dark beauties with blue eyes against pale skin. Being together, laughing together, belonging together.

Bilbo would fade into the background next to them. He was all brown and always would be.

He was in a fog as his feet moved him towards the door of the dining room. Behind him he heard an unknown dwarf call out a toast to ‘the King and Master Frodo! May their love be as everlasting and unchanging as the peak of Erebor itself!’ Shouts of dwarven blessings greeted the speaker, as Bilbo shut the door behind him.

There was a nondescript balcony across the hall. Bilbo tried the door handle and, finding it unlocked, slipped silently outside.

It had started snowing again, and the cold air stung his cheeks. As Bilbo looked up, he could spot a few stars between the bluish clouds. One stood out in particular. It was the bright light of Eärendil.

That star will be shining on the Shire tonight, Bilbo thought. His hand went to his jacket pocket, looking for his favourite handkerchief. But it grabbed nothing but air. Had he lost it? Frantically, he searched his other pocket, then the pockets in his trousers and finally in his waistcoat. All empty. Nothing.

His cheeks felt wet, but he let the strong winds from the west dry them as he looked up at the sky once more.

Bilbo’s hands clenched around the cold air and he remembered Bofur’s weather prediction.

There would definitely be a storm tonight.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was an absolutely overwhelming reaction to that last chapter. I feel an odd mixture of pride and guilt that I was able to "break" so many hearts. ;)
> 
> And I just wanted to promise that this won't be a dark and angsty story. I've already tagged this as having a happy ending, and we will get there eventually. There just needs to be a bit of darkness to contrast the light.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, kudos'ing, and commenting. You don't know how much it brightens my days, knowing that there are people out there enjoying what I write.

The heavy page groaned as Bilbo carefully turned it. He was sitting bolt upright in front of Ori’s desk, touching the valuable tome in front of him as little as possible. The hand written text on the thick vellum didn’t mean much to him, but the illustrations were extraordinary. Grand scenes of fighting, gold-painted coronations of one dwarven king after the other, and a complete history of all the different rocks, minerals and gems found in the mines of Erebor.

Bilbo had taken to spending more time in the library after… after the evening of the great storm. The quiet of the large room and the smell of aged leather bindings and parchment soothed him in a way that nothing else did these days.

Ori had welcomed his presence, but it was only after he was sure that Bilbo treated the books with due reverence, that he allowed him to handle some of the historical works.

‘This is a beautiful volume, Master Ori,’ Bilbo smiled at the dwarf who popped out from behind a nearby shelf at the sound of his name, ‘Thank you so much for letting me see it.’

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ Ori moved to join Bilbo at his desk. He stretched out his hand above the page but didn’t quite touch the delicate colours of the illustration. ‘It’s a shame we don’t know the artist behind these pictures.’

‘Really?’ Bilbo was surprised. He had never seen work of this high quality before, and thought it must have been done by a well-known dwarven master.

‘Yes, there’s no signature or any other written record of whom the illustrator was.’ Ori gave a slight exhale through his nose. ‘But that’s dwarves for you. We’ll write songs and carve busts to whoever found the largest diamond, but when it comes to something like this,’ he turned the page slowly to reveal a large illustration of Erebor, ‘We sadly lack appreciation.’

Bilbo looked at the picture in front of him. It had obviously been painted in the spring, as the landscape was suffused by a light green against a dazzling, blue sky. Even the bare rock of the mountain seemed to be a more welcoming brown than the lifeless gray he had seen so far. The very top of the mountain still had a white peak, but the tree line went further up than he had noticed before. The whole scene was so vibrant, that Bilbo was sure he could spot songbirds flitting merrily through the sky.

‘Is it really like this in the spring?’ he breathed.

Ori hummed. ‘And it’s a lot livelier, as well. Dwarves from the Iron Mountains and Men from Dale and Lake-town come and go freely. More trade and exchange take place, too. I’m sorry your first experience of Erebor had to be in the dead of winter.’

And my last experience, Bilbo thought. He had deliberated on this tragic mess into which his life had descended, and he had come to a decision.

He would leave Erebor. As soon as possible.

This meant as soon as he had gathered the courage to tell the King. And he still didn’t know how he was going to convince Frodo to come with him. If Bilbo could carry him all the way back to the Shire, he would. Perhaps he could ask the princes to escort them…

The door opened to the library, and a large dwarf stepped in. A hood covered his head and left his face in shadow, while his heavy cloak was covered in melting snow.

Ori stiffened next to him and quickly closed the valuable book in front of them. He placed it gently on a shelf behind his desk and turned to the visitor.

‘Yes?’ he said. The large dwarf pushed back his hood, revealing a bald head covered in tattoos.

‘Mr. Dwalin?’ Ori left Bilbo’s side to stand in front of the other dwarf.

‘Ori,’ Dwalin murmured, ‘I couldn’t get your yarn.’ He stared down at the smaller dwarf.

Bilbo blinked in confusion. He had never heard the captain of the guard speak with such a soft tone of voice. Usually it was either barked commands or curt replies. Bilbo had learnt to accept Dwalin’s brisk and reticent behaviour when he came across him, but this was something entirely new.

‘No matter,’ Ori reached up to brush some of the snow off Dwalin’s cloak. ‘Can you try again tomorrow?’

‘Have you looked up from your books and out of the window lately?’ Dwalin’s voice was fond, as he intercepted one of Ori’s hands sliding down his front. He held it between his own larger ones.

Ori turned to the window. ‘Oh.’

Bilbo looked as well. The sky was white and the snow was coming down hard outside.

‘Yes,’ Dwalin said, ‘There’ll be no leaving the mountain for at least the next month,’ His voice softened, ‘Not even to go to Dale and buy yarn.’

‘What?!’ Bilbo’s eyes widened. Dwalin looked up from his perusal of Ori’s face and seemed to notice the hobbit for the first time. His features closed off once again.

‘We’re snowed in, Master Baggins. The road down the mountain is completely impassable. The lower part is buried under drifts of snow taller than two dwarves. The upper part is covered in slippery ice.’

Bilbo hurried to the window, completely ignoring the two dwarves behind him. He looked down the side of the mountain. Dwalin was right. Everything below him was completely white, where before it had been a stony grey.

He breathed out slowly against the windowpane, watching his breath condensate and then slowly fade on the glass. He was stuck.

Bilbo looked over his shoulder at Dwalin and Ori, but quickly turned his gaze back to the view outside. He didn’t think they would want some hobbit gawping at their slow kiss, Ori leaning into Dwalin’s chest while the gruff dwarf carefully cradled his small partner in his strong hands.

Bilbo shuffled. He couldn’t very well justify staring at an all-white landscape the entire afternoon. As he cleared his throat loudly, there was some scuffling behind him. He smiled. Good for Ori. And for Dwalin, as well.

He went to sit at the desk again and glanced up at the two dwarves. Ori’s cheeks were a bit flushed, while Dwalin stood with his arms folded, staring defiantly at the hobbit, challenging him to say something.

Bilbo straightened some papers in front of him while the two dwarves said their goodbyes, and then there was the sound of Dwalin shutting the door behind him. He smiled up at Ori, as he went to join him at the desk.

‘So…’ Bilbo raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you two courting?’

‘Yes.’ Ori grinned to himself, as he brushed his hand over the grain of the wooden table. ‘It’s quite new. That’s why we’re still so…you know.’

‘Disgustingly happy?’ Bilbo said. 

Ori gave a short laugh. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’ He sat down next to Bilbo. ‘It must be the same with you and – what’s his name – the miner?’

Bilbo looked away. He hadn’t talked to Bofur since that awful dinner, and he felt horrible about how he’d acted towards him. He’d let his own emotions overpower him and had left his friend completely alone in a strange place. Bilbo had been selfish. 

He needed to speak to Bofur – he knew that – but the prospect of that talk frightened him. Maybe he was afraid of what he was going to discover about their friendship.

‘Bofur?’ Bilbo straightened the papers again. ‘No, we’re not – we’re friends.’

‘Really?’ Ori picked up a small pile of books on his desk and took them to the nearest shelf. ‘But I – well, everyone really – thought that you had started courting already.’

Bilbo paled. ‘Everyone?’

Ori moved some books along the shelf to make room for more. ‘When I say “everyone”, I really mean the people working and living close to the royal family. A lot of them are really interested in our hobbit guests, and while Frodo’s already spoken for, you’re a bit more of a mystery. Mysteries encourage gossip.’

Bilbo buried his head in his hands. ‘Oh, no.’

Ori went back to the desk and touched Bilbo’s shoulder lightly. ‘I wouldn’t let it bother you. Rumours die off after a while with nothing to feed them.’

Bilbo stood up quickly, knocking Ori’s hand off his shoulder in the process. ‘I need to talk to Bofur.’

‘So you’re going to go tearing through the mountain, looking for the dwarf everyone thinks you’re courting?’ Ori went back to his shelf. ‘I’m sure that’s going to put a stop to the rumours.’

‘That doesn’t matter. I _have_ to talk to him.’

 

X—X

 

The kitchens were deserted this late at the night. Even the scullions had finished their duties and all that remained of their presence was a banked fire and slightly damp floors. The room was silent but for a slight drip of water coming from somewhere, and the only source of light was the golden embers in the huge fireplace in the corner.

Bilbo’s tea had grown cold when he heard the voice behind him.

‘Bombur said ye wanted to talk wi’ me.’

Bilbo stood up to face Bofur. ‘Yes, I did. I do.’

The dwarf nodded shortly but made no other reply.

Bilbo shuffled. ‘I…I wanted to apologise. For leaving you that evening.’

Bofur moved closer and sat down at the table. Bilbo joined him.

‘Why?’ Bofur wasn’t looking at him.

‘Why what?’ Bilbo knew what he was asking but wanted to delay the answer.

Bofur looked into his eyes. ‘Why did ye leave?’

‘Because… Because it all became too much for me. Frodo’s courtship, the crowds, you suddenly turning up…’ Bilbo trailed off.

‘Ye’re not tellin’ me the truth.’ The usually jolly dwarf’s voice was quiet.

Bilbo swallowed. ‘No, I’m not.’ He played with the handle of his tea cup. ‘What would you call us, Bofur? What is going on between us?’

Bofur looked away. ‘We’re friends, right?’

‘That’s not what everyone else thinks.’

‘No?’ Bofur kept his eyes on the rough surface of the table in front of him.

Bilbo was starting to see now, and he was overcome with a great sympathy for his friend. He wanted to grab his hand, to reassure him, to do anything to bring the old cheery Bofur back. But they needed to be honest with each other.

‘Bofur?’ Something in Bilbo’s tone of voice made the dwarf look up. ‘Have you been courting me?’

‘Not as such,’ He still wouldn’t meet Bilbo’s eyes. ‘Maybe a bit, but nothin’ official.’

‘Bofur…’

‘I don’ need ye to say it, alright? I know it’s not like that fer ye, but I thought, maybe, in time…’

‘You should have said something.’ Bilbo murmured.

‘So ye could refuse me to me face? I’m afraid I don’ have the stomach fer that.’

Bilbo looked at his friend’s profile. Bofur’s gaze was hooded and his lips firmly set. Bilbo’s eyes softened at the sight. This was his friend, maybe even his best friend, and he had hurt him.

‘I know how you feel right now,’ he said.

‘Do ye? I don’ think so.’

An image of the King laughing with Frodo flashed in front of Bilbo’s eyes. He closed them to will it away.

‘I’m sorry.’ It was all he was able to say.

‘What fer?’ Bofur finally looked straight at him. ‘Ye didn’ do anythin’.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘In fact, that’s the whole problem.’

‘I’m sorry for leaving you that evening, I’m sorry for not understanding sooner, I’m sorry for not…’ Bilbo trailed off, but he kept his eyes fixed on Bofur’s, imploring him to understand the unsaid.

The dwarf nodded. ‘S’fine.’ But the hobbit could tell that it wasn’t. At least, not yet.

Bilbo gave a small smile. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ He stood up. ‘I think there’s still some hot water in the pot.’

Bofur shook his head, a kind smile on his face. ‘Ye know I hate tea.’

He turned in his seat and looked up at Bilbo.

‘We’re still friends?’ 

Bilbo wanted to touch him, to grab his hand, his shoulder, but now every touch, every look between them had the possibility of carrying unintentional meanings. He flexed his fingers behind his back.

‘Of course.’ The corners of his eyes crinkled as Bilbo smiled at his friend.

 

X—X

 

His feet sunk down into the snow, almost reaching the cuff of his trousers. It was difficult to gauge the edge of the path under the white blanket, so he stayed close to the stone wall. The drop down the mountain was steep, and he wanted to be no where near that ledge.

Bilbo was finally convinced that his good winter coat was no match to the winter of Erebor, and he had “borrowed” Frodo’s blue cloak with the gold stitching when the lad had been away somewhere with his two friends.

The hood was up against the chilly wind, though his eyes still watered when he strained them to look out across the horizon. There was no song of birds or wind in the trees. Everything was either dead or silenced by the thick layer of white surrounding him. 

The whole world seemed muted: no colour, no sound, no life. And Bilbo was stuck here.

‘Master Frodo?’ There was a voice behind him.

Bilbo turned around and faced – what looked to be – a young guard. In Bilbo’s estimation, she wasn’t much older than Fíli. He had passed a group of guards when he had gone outside, but she hadn’t been one of them.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Master Baggins. I thought you were – I mean, I recognized the cloak…’

Bilbo smiled reassuringly. ‘That’s fine. I _am_ in a sort of disguise.’

He expected her to turn back now that she’d realized it was _not_ the King’s intended, trying to flee the mountain. It was only the unimportant chaperone, cursing his blasted luck.

She moved slightly to return to the entrance of the mountain but hesitated. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes.’ Bilbo shrugged his shoulders slightly under the weight of the cloak. She still hadn’t left. ‘Did you want something?’

‘No…You were just standing so still, staring into space and I – It’s nothing.’

She moved closer and stood slightly behind him. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘Beautiful?’ Bilbo looked over the uniform landscape.

She shifted behind him, and Bilbo could hear the metal of her weapons clanging against her armour. ‘Just seeing how much the earth can take, and thinking how strong it must be to be able to spring back to life in a couple of months.’

‘I suppose so…’ Bilbo squinted at the covered fauna, trying to see what this dwarrowdam was seeing. 

‘Ragni!’ There was a shout behind them. She turned quickly around, covering Bilbo with her broader body, while her right hand went to the sword at her side.

Another guard was slipping and sliding down the snowy path, trying to get to her as quickly as possible. He huffed as he came to a stop.

‘There’s been an accident. You have to go to the apothecary and find Óin. Make him go to the hobbits’ chambers. Hurry!’

Bilbo could feel all the blood drain from his head. He was sure he would have stumbled and fallen, if Ragni hadn’t grabbed hold of his shoulders and pushed him ahead of her back into the mountain.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coww was inspired by chapter 9 of this story and created this beautiful [painting](http://shamingcows.tumblr.com/post/98809303013/a-most-sensible-idea-ch-9-by-hildyj-the-face-in) of Bilbo being woken up by Thorin.

Bilbo burst through the door into his and Frodo’s chambers, expecting to find his nephew either wounded or sick and surrounded by bustling dwarves ready to help. Instead he was met by a deafening silence. The room looked the same, as it had done earlier in the day. The only difference was that the fireplace had been reduced to glowing embers and their breakfast tray had been removed.

Not even bothering to remove his borrowed cloak or push back the hood, he quickly strode over to Frodo’s bedroom, expecting to find any evidence for the need of an apothecary like Master Óin. It was also empty; the only evidence of life was the lad’s shirt from yesterday still thrown across a chair. 

Bilbo lingered in the doorframe, debating on what to do now. How was he going to find the way to the apothecary? Was this all some stupid prank? Where _was_ Frodo?

He absentmindedly heard heavy footsteps behind him, and there was that familiar voice, a voice Bilbo still heard in the back of his mind when everything was quiet around him. And now it addressed him directly.

‘Frodo? Is that you? But I thought – Oh, Mahal, where is he?!’ King Thorin marched past Bilbo’s back and slung open the door to the other bedroom, Bilbo’s bedroom. He came to a stop at the sight of the empty room, and then turned to go back to the main hallway.

Bilbo called out to him. ‘Your Majesty?’

The King froze at the door, his whole body as tense as a fiddle string, but suddenly his shoulders slumped, and he gave a great exhale of air. He looked over at Bilbo as the hobbit pushed back his hood, revealing his worried features and listless, brown curls.

King Thorin said nothing, just stared at Bilbo, his eyes roaming over the entirety of his body.

Bilbo felt his stomach drop and a rush of blood in his cheeks. That’s all it takes, he thought, just the attentive gaze of that dwarf and my mind is no longer my own. But he fought down his body’s instinctive reactions and tried to keep a neutral tone of voice.

‘Can you take me to the apothecary? I have to be sure nothing’s happened to my nephew.’

The King was still wide-eyed, but he gave a stuttering nod and walked out the door. Bilbo followed him.

The apothecary was thankfully close by, but the nearer the pair got to that part of the mountain, the more activity there was in the halls. Several servants carried firewood, tubs of steaming water, and clean sheets through a large door. Bilbo hurried past the King, almost running when he reached the rooms.

Dwarves were moving between each other, lighting fires, giving orders to subordinates, and in the middle of this commotion stood Fíli with his arm around Kíli’s shoulders, both brothers gazing silently at a closed door.

Bilbo reached them, his arms out in front of him, almost pleading them not to tell him his worst fears. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the King opening the closed door, slipping through and closing it behind him.

‘Well?’ His voice broke and he had to clear his throat.

The princes’ faces fell when they noticed him.

‘We’re so sorry!’ Fíli began.

‘Very sorry!’ Kíli continued.

Bilbo’s cheeks turned cold, and he tried to calm his rapidly accelerated breathing.

He spoke slowly, trying to achieve control, ‘What happened?’

‘We didn’t know it would be that slippery!’ Kíli looked imploringly into Bilbo’s eyes.

‘And Frodo went up a lot higher than any of us.’ Fíli said.

They’re children, Bilbo thought. I left my nephew alone with blasted children, and now he’s hurt somewhere, and I can’t get to him.

‘Did he fall? Outside?’ The brothers nodded.

Bilbo closed his eyes. ‘How bad is it?’

Fíli’s voice was so low, that Bilbo had to strain his ears to hear him. ‘He’s not waking up.’

Bilbo’s knees grew weak, and he would have sat down right there on the floor, if he hadn’t felt a hand under each arm, holding him up. A deep voice murmured in his ear.

‘Let me take you to your nephew, Master Baggins.’

The King’s arm supported Bilbo all the way to that closed-off room, and gently eased him into a chair next to a bed. Bilbo couldn’t help but stare at his nephew lying there.

He looked unbearably young, even with his large, blue eyes closed. It reminded Bilbo of that time, as a child, Frodo had limped into Bag End, not supporting his weight on his left foot. When he had seen his uncle, he had promptly burst into to tears. But within the hour he had been happily ensconced on the soft couch near the fire, being plied with biscuits and lemonade, while chattering away, telling Uncle Bilbo about the grand adventure that had temporarily cost him the use of his foot.

Now he was quiet. Quiet like Bilbo hadn’t seen him for a long time, his whole body covered with a heavy blanket. He looked like he was sleeping, if you ignored the bandage on the side of his head with a bloodstain lazily spreading.

Bilbo looked up to the other side of the bed, where that dwarf with the ear trumpet was peeling back Frodo’s covering to listen to his chest. Bilbo hissed when he saw the angry, red bruise going down Frodo’s right arm and most of his side. He reached out to touch it, but resigned himself to grabbing the limp hand.

King Thorin went around to the other side of the bed and bent down a little to speak into the dwarf’s ear trumpet. ‘What is your verdict, Master Óin?’

‘It’s hard to say. He may wake up in an hour or in a week…’

Bilbo looked up, his eyes wet. ‘But he _will_ wake up?’

‘Oh, yes. His heartbeat’s regular, his colour’s good, I’ve cleaned that wound and put a healing salve on it.’ The apothecary glanced at his king, ‘Now all we have to do is wait.’

Bilbo didn’t feel very reassured. Wait? Did these dwarves even know anything about healing? If only he was back in the Shire…

The King moved to the foot of the bed. ‘We’ll have someone sitting by him all day and all night, Master Baggins.’ Bilbo lifted his head at being addressed. ‘He’ll receive the best care.’ Bilbo squeezed Frodo’s hand and thought it was slightly cold.

‘I’m not leaving.’

‘What?’

‘I’m _not_ leaving.’ Bilbo locked eyes with the King and gritted his teeth in preparation for any opposition he’d have to beat down.

King Thorin held his gaze, his eyes unreadable. ‘Fine.’ He turned to the other dwarf, ‘Is it possible to move a second bed in here?’

The apothecary glanced between the unassuming hobbit and the proud King and shook his head in silent wonderment. ‘That can be arranged, your Majesty.’

The old dwarf draped the blanket over Frodo again, bowed to his king and left the room. As he closed the door, he also shut out all the noise from the outer chamber, leaving the king, his intended and the chaperone in silence.

King Thorin sighed and sat down heavily in a chair on the other side of the bed. He faced Bilbo across Frodo’s still body.

‘I’m sorry.’ He murmured.

Bilbo said nothing, just grabbed his nephew’s hand harder, his eyes trained on the blood on the bandage. Would it need changing soon?

‘Did you hear me?’

‘I did.’ Bilbo stood up, rearranging Frodo’s blankets, and making sure his feet and his hands were sufficiently covered. ‘And you should be sorry. This is all your fault.’

‘Excuse me?’ The King sat straighter in his seat.

‘If we hadn’t been forced to come here, if Frodo hadn’t been chosen as your future consort, if we had stayed at home in the Shire,’ Bilbo paused for breath, trying to lower his voice which had risen with every exclamation, ‘Then none of this would have happened. Then Frodo would be awake and well.’

‘I didn’t force you –‘

‘Didn’t you?’ Bilbo sat back down. ‘You must have been king long enough to know that all _his Majesty_ has to do is _ask_ , and all the world will jump to do his bidding.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Including the Thain of the Shire.’

King Thorin said nothing, only staring at his own hands.

Bilbo continued, almost talking to himself. ‘Why did it have to be a hobbit? Why not a man, or an elf, or even an orc? Why not some beautiful dwarf or dwarrowdam? Someone you could have courted without dragging two hobbits half-way across Middle-earth.’

The King stirred slightly. ‘You make the mistake of thinking I had a choice.’

That brought Bilbo up short. ‘What?’

‘You’ve seen how tough the winters get in this part of the world. The land around Erebor is not fit for much farming. Our food stores for winter have mostly been made up of what Dale can spare us and barrels of salted fish from Lake-town. Most dwarves can take a winter of such meagre food but the children?’ He looked up at Bilbo. ‘Last winter several dwarflings were ill, their cheeks sunken and their beards lank. The winter before that, we lost a child.’ King Thorin bowed his head again.

Bilbo thought back to their departure from the Shire, to the carts filled with wheat and rye accompanying them, to the bulging cows being driven behind them, to the ponies laden with the finest cheese. It had been a sign of good faith and a promise to uphold their part of the coming trade agreement. The hobbits of the Shire had thought it a nice gesture to gift Erebor the finest produce from their county, and everyone had given a bit from their harvest. They had considered it a nice present for their new allies. But, as Bilbo now realized, it had been a lifeline for the dwarves this winter.

It dawned on him. ‘You need us more than we need you.’

The King nodded. ‘Yes, and it’s not a feeling with which I’m familiar.’ He held Bilbo’s gaze. ‘That’s why it had to be me, you see? Not a high-ranking official, not a member of my council, not even one of my nephews. None of them were important enough to offer in return for this great alliance. It _had_ to be me.’ He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Bilbo looked at Frodo’s sleeping face. ‘And now here we are.’

‘And now here we are.’ King Thorin murmured.

Bilbo turned his gaze back to the King. He hadn’t had the pleasure of studying that face for a long time. Right now it was tired, the mouth set in a firm line, the corners of the eyes drooping a bit, and the lines on the forehead were deep. And it was still the most handsome face that Bilbo had seen or ever will see. The palms of his hands tingled, wanting to reach out and caress King Thorin’s cheek, wanting to feel the exotic brush of that thick beard. 

He looked away, berating himself. His nephew was lying lifeless beside him, and it was his duty to watch over him. Now was not the time to fantasise about dwarven kings.

There was a knock at the door. It opened and Fíli and Kíli shuffled into the room. They kept their eyes on Frodo, not wanting to meet either Thorin’s or Bilbo’s gaze.

‘How is he?’ Kíli whispered

‘Alive, but no thanks to you.’ The King stood up, his broad shoulders almost covering the lads from Bilbo’s view. ‘What happened out there? I thought you were just going to take Frodo outside for a bit of air?’

‘We did, but there was this ledge.’ Kíli said.

‘And we had a little competition, seeing who could jump the farthest off it.’ Fíli continued

‘I guess Frodo really wanted to win, because he took a long running start, but he slipped before he could jump and fell down hard right below the ledge.’ Kíli looked back at the sleeping hobbit.

Fíli’s voice was quiet. ‘And then he didn’t get back up.’

‘Fools!’ The King’s voice had a low intensity. ‘You’ve spent most of your youth in this mountain. You _know_ to be wary of the ice in winter. You _know_ how treacherous it can be outside.’

‘We just wanted to show Frodo some fun.’ Kíli looked down at his boots. They were still wet from the snow.

Fíli craned his head to look over his uncle’s shoulder at Frodo. ‘Will he wake up?’ 

Bilbo took pity on these young dwarves. He nodded. ‘Master Óin thinks so. I will keep watch in this room until then.’

Kíli smiled. ‘Well, then you won’t have to worry about being bored. Fíli and I will come visit you and Frodo.’

Fíli nodded his head vigorously. ‘Yes, we’ll be here all the time.’

The idea of having to spend endless days and maybe nights being “entertained” by these two rascals was more than Bilbo could handle. ‘If you’d visit once a day, then that would be lovely.’ He paused. ‘Frodo needs quiet, you see, to heal.’ The two young dwarves nodded seriously.

Bilbo suddenly felt brave, even if he had to ignore the rapid beating of his heart. ‘You are, of course, also welcome to visit, your Majesty.’ He looked up at the King.

King Thorin’s lips quirked slightly. ‘Thank you. I think I will.’


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some more fanart. Radio made these lovely [drawings](http://radiorcrist.tumblr.com/post/98516924651/hi-i-like-this-fic-a-lot-its-by-hildyj-good), depicting the final moment (The one with the cloak) in chapter 8.

Bilbo wiped a damp cloth down Frodo’s right arm, careful not to put pressure on the large bruise. It had turned from a shining red to a purplish-blue. The bandage on Frodo’s head had been removed as well, the wound having started to scab over. Óin had come by to check on the patient and apply more healing salve. Everything was progressing as it should.

But Frodo still wasn’t waking up.

He deposited the cloth in a bowl of warm, soapy water and placed his hand on Frodo’s forehead. It felt warm. Did he have a slight fever? As Bilbo pondered this, he poured the water out of the window, melting a patch of snow below. He would ask Óin about it the next time he saw him.

The door to the room creaked.

‘Hello?’ Kíli’s head appeared around the edge of the open door.

‘Wait!’ Bilbo hurried to the bed, quickly throwing the blanket back over Frodo’s body. The lad was only in his underdrawers, for Eru’s sake!

‘Don’t be such a prude, Master Baggins.’ Fíli followed his brother into the room ‘Remember we’ve had training lessons with Frodo. We know what he looks like with no shirt on.’ He shared a smile with Kíli.

Bilbo shook his head and sat down in his usual chair next to Frodo’s bed. The room was a bit more crowded now after two burly dwarves had come by and placed a second bed against the other wall. Bilbo had also been back to his and Frodo’s chambers to collect some clothes and books. He didn’t know how long they would be in the apothecary, but he would be prepared for anything.

Kíli sat down on the other side of the bed while Fíli stood behind him. They stared at Frodo’s relaxed face.

‘It’s odd,’ Kíli said. ‘Seeing him so quiet.’

‘Will it be much longer now?’ Fíli looked at Bilbo.

The hobbit sighed. ‘I don’t know.’ It had been almost a day since the accident, and Frodo was showing no signs of waking up.

Kíli looked up at Bilbo’s weary face. ‘We’re sorry.’ Fíli nodded behind him.

‘Yes, I know, so you keep telling me.’ Bilbo closed his eyes. He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep last night. He had kept almost dozing off until a sound in the room would bring him back to Frodo’s bed, checking over his nephew’s body and studying his face for any movement. When none came he would trudge back to his own bed and lie staring up at the ceiling. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes. Fíli was standing in front of him with a worried expression.

‘If you want to take a quick nap,’ he said, ‘Then Kíli and I will look after Frodo while you sleep.’

‘Yes,’ Kíli said, ‘And we’ll wake you if he as much as moves an eyebrow.’

‘I’m not sure…’ Bilbo was tempted, but could he trust these two brats not to get bored and go and entertain themselves somewhere else?

‘We’ll just sit here quietly.’ Fíli moved back to Kíli’s chair. ‘I need to read some documents from Balin, and Kíli has neglected his swords for too long. They definitely need sharpening.’ Kíli looked up at his brother, slightly affronted.

‘You _will_ wake me if you have to leave?’ Bilbo was already standing up and moving to his bed.

Kíli held up his right hand. ‘We swear it on Durin’s Beard.’

‘I guess that’ll have to do.’ Bilbo let his jacket slide off his arms and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

Fíli looked at him with kind eyes. ‘It’ll be alright, Master Baggins.’

‘If you say so.’ Bilbo lay down on his side, his back to the brothers.

He could hear them moving around, the sound of parchment being brought out from somewhere, and the two lads whispering to each other. Bilbo closed his eyes. One of them was sitting back down, and then there was a low, metallic hiss of metal moving against metal. The sound kept on moving back and forth, a soothing repetition. He could feel his shoulders relaxing. Outside the cold winds howled past the stony exterior wall. Bilbo was glad he was inside by a warm fire…

The next time he opened his eyes, the noises surrounding him had been replaced by the low murmuring of voices. He turned over on his stomach and stretched slightly. That sleep had done him a world of good. Fíli and Kíli were obviously still here, so maybe he could just close his eyes and allow himself to drift off once again. Then the conversation going on behind him seemed to come into focus.

‘- must be some kind of light fur.’ That was Fíli’s voice.

‘No, look,’ Kíli’s voice sounded and there was a rustle of fabric. ‘It’s definitely made of leather. I wonder if it’s there at birth or if it comes from walking everywhere barefooted?’

‘Why would they walk barefooted if they didn’t already have hardy, leathery feet?’ Fíli’s tone of voice was slightly mocking.

‘Good point.’ Fabric rustled again, and a chair creaked. ‘Must save a lot of gold. Not having to buy boots, I mean.’

‘How would _you_ know how much boots cost? You’ve never bought a pair of boots in your life.’

‘I’ve been to the marketplace. Many times.’

‘Uh huh.’ 

Bilbo rolled his eyes. He knew that hobbit feet were a curious sight to the other races of Middle-Earth, but he had thought the dwarves of Erebor had gotten past the initial fascination and were now used to the sight of bare feet slapping against their stony floors without giving them a second glance. But apparently they still interested the princes.

‘Lads,’ There was a third voice, a voice that made Bilbo’s stomach do a small flip. ‘It seems Master Baggins has joined us again.’

Bilbo rolled over and faced the room. Fíli and Kíli were sitting on either side of Frodo’s bed, their swords and parchments discarded at their feet. At a small desk by the window was King Thorin, a quill in his hand with several documents spread out in front of him. He had turned slightly in his seat to look over at Bilbo.

The hobbit sat up slowly, rubbing a hand through his hair, which had been flattened against the soft pillow. One of his braces had fallen off his shoulder in his sleep, and his shirt was slightly rumpled. He must look a mess to these royal dwarves.

‘Feeling better?’ Fíli smiled at him.

‘Yes, thank you.’ Bilbo buttoned his waistcoat, his fingers fumbling more than usually. He wasn’t used to having three dwarves stare at him while getting dressed.

‘You and Frodo look a lot alike when you’re both sleeping.’ Kíli said, ‘You should try relaxing more, Master Baggins. That wrinkle between your eyebrows completely disappears when you do.’

‘Kíli.’ King Thorin’s voice was low, a hint of warning in it.

‘What?’ The young dwarf looked at his uncle.

Bilbo walked over to them, pulling on his jacket as he went. His hand made the habitual journey to his right pocket, checking for his favourite handkerchief. It was still missing.

Fíli got up out of his chair, gesturing for Bilbo to take his seat. The hobbit sat down, looking over his nephew. There was no change. 

The dwarf picked up the strewn parchments, trying to get them to lie in a tidy bundle. ‘I have to give these back to Balin.’ He moved towards the door and paused. ‘Kíli? Are you coming?’

‘You go on. I think I’m going to stay for a bit.’

Fíli glanced at his uncle, who had gone back to whatever he was doing at that desk, and went out the door.

Bilbo settled back into his chair and grabbed his book from the bedside table. It was a compilation of the great deeds of the line of Durin. A bit dry, but the historian in Bilbo found it fascinating.

The room grew quiet. Though Bilbo could hear the scratching of a quill coming from the desk, and he looked over at the King. His head was bent over the documents, while his right hand moved in a steady pace. His hair, which was usually hanging neatly down his back, had moved over one shoulder, the ends of it lightly touching the edge of the desk. As Bilbo watched, the other hand moved up and grabbed the end of a braid, absentmindedly rolling the bead between his fingers.

Bilbo could almost feel the cool texture of that metal clasp, imagining his fingers moving over it to feel the tightly wound hair above it. Did the King ever release his hair from those braids? Did he ever let all of it flow freely over both shoulders and down his chest? Maybe, if he were bare-chested, it would just reach his nipples. Would those nubs be stimulated by the constant brush of that thick mane? Would they wrinkle, peaking up against the wide expanse of King Thorin’s chest?

The chair creaked on the other side of Frodo’s bed, and Bilbo quickly looked away from those strong fingers moving that braid lightly between them. He could feel his face flushing.

Kíli was watching him with an odd look on his face. He glanced over his shoulder at his uncle, who was still sitting quietly, not knowing the thoughts he had aroused in the hobbit. Kíli looked back at Bilbo, frowning as he played with his own fingers.

Bilbo gripped the sides of his book tighter, forcing his eyes back to the page, though he couldn’t focus his thoughts to make much sense of the words in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the young prince shifting in his seat.

‘Kíli.’ The King looked up from his work. ‘Didn’t your mother want to talk to you?’

‘Did she?’ 

‘Yes, I’m sure I heard her mention it. Could you take this to her when you go?’ King Thorin lifted the piece of parchment he had been writing and blew slightly on it to make the ink dry faster. Bilbo tried not to stare too long at those rounded lips. 

The King stood and held out the document to his nephew. He raised his eyebrows in expectation when Kíli didn’t stand up immediately to receive it.

‘Oh,’ Kíli glanced between Bilbo and his uncle, seeming a bit bewildered. ‘Then I better go to her.’ He took the parchment, rolled it up and went to the door. Here he stopped.

‘Goodbye, Master Baggins.’ The document moved around in his right hand. ‘I’ll come back later to check on Frodo again.’

Bilbo nodded and watched the young dwarf disappear through the door.

He heard rather than saw King Thorin sit down in Kíli’s recently vacated chair on the other side of Frodo’s bed, the heavy footsteps, the creak of the chair and the deep sigh as he sank down into the soft seat.

Bilbo looked at Frodo rather than at the King. There seemed to be a bit more colour in the lad’s cheeks than earlier. He stood up and felt Frodo’s face. Still a bit too warm. He smoothed down the dark, limp curls. Maybe he could figure out a way of washing his hair without soaking the entire bed…

‘Master Óin came by earlier.’ King Thorin said. ‘While you were sleeping.’

‘What did he say?’ Bilbo sat back down.

‘That Master Frodo has a slight fever, but it’s nothing to worry about. It shows that his body is fighting whatever this is.’

Bilbo picked up his book. ‘You should have woken me.’

‘You needed the sleep.’ The King stretched out his legs and crossed his feet. ‘Kíli’s right. You don’t relax enough.’

‘I’m staying in a strange mountain, trapped by snow and surrounded by grumpy dwarves, and my nephew is lying unconscious next to me.’ Bilbo turned his book in his hands but kept it shut. ‘I don’t know how you expect me to relax in such a situation.’

‘Grumpy dwarves?’ The muscles around King Thorin’s mouth twitched slightly.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘No, I don’t. Have my people not treated you properly?’

‘No, everyone’s been very nice, but…’ Bilbo trailed off. He didn’t really want to sound like a complaining hobbit, annoyed because he was mostly being ignored in favour of Frodo. It was not a quality he admired in himself. His hurt pride was not something of which to be proud.

‘But?’ The King held eye contact with Bilbo, seemingly very interested in what the hobbit had to say.

‘But…’ Bilbo racked his brain, looking for some innocuous thing to say. ‘But…this enforced idleness is something new to me. At home I’m always doing something: cooking, writing, gardening, going to the market.’ He hesitated. ‘That’s not possible here. Maybe it’s making _me_ grumpy and not the dwarves.’

‘We’ll see if we can find something to occupy your time. Though I hear from Ori that you’re making good use of the library.’ King Thorin gave a pointed look to the book in Bilbo’s lap.

‘Yes,’ Bilbo brushed his hand over the leather binding. ‘Thank you for showing it to me.’

‘It was my pleasure.’ King Thorin’s voice was deep and smooth, and Bilbo could almost feel the sound of it moving down his spine. He gave a small shiver.

‘Are you cold?’ King Thorin stood up and made to move to the door. ‘I can ask for more wood to be brought for the fire.’

‘No, I’m fine. Please sit back down.’ Please don’t leave me again, Bilbo thought. Not now. Not when we’re finally speaking to each other again. Not when you’re looking at me and almost smiling. Almost. That’s enough for me.

The King sat down in his chair. The room was silent but for the crackle of the fire. Bilbo wanted to say something, anything to get them talking again. He looked down at his book, hoping to find some inspiration there, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember now what it was about, and the plain leather binding was no help.

He turned his gaze to Frodo’s face, and his eyes softened. You stupid boy, Bilbo thought. Jumping of icy rocks and landing face-first on a slab of stone. I didn’t take you in, didn’t bring you up, didn’t look after you for twenty years, to have you die in some stupid mountain filled with dwarves. You better wake up, Frodo Baggins. And soon. Because I have to tell you how sorry I am.

‘The last time I really talked to him, we shouted at each other.’ Bilbo swallowed as he kept looking at his nephew.

‘About what?’

Bilbo closed his eyes. Frodo’s angry voice sounded in his mind.

_Just because some stupid old dwarf has stopped talking to you, you think you have the right to force me back to the Shire. Well, I’m not going!_

‘Nothing important.’ Bilbo looked down at his book. ‘You know how families are.’

King Thorin hummed. ‘Not really. I let Dís do most of the shouting when it came to my nephews. They fear her far more than they do me.’

‘Well, I still have to take Frodo to task for something or other from time to time.’

‘That’ll lessen as he gets older.’ The King paused. ‘He’s still young.’

And yet you’re the one who’s courting that young hobbit, Bilbo thought. If he’s so young, why not send him away? Send both of us back to the Shire. Let’s end this farce right now. But he said nothing.

Silence reigned once again. Bilbo was debating on whether or not he should give up trying to keep this conversation going and just resign himself to reading his book, when the King spoke.

‘Your waistcoat is crooked.’

‘What?’ Bilbo looked up at King Thorin. The dwarf’s eyes danced with merriment, and he gave a significant glance at the hobbit’s chest.

‘Look for yourself.’

Bilbo looked down. ‘Oh. Oh, dear. That’ll teach me to get dressed while my eyes are still half-shut from sleep.’ He unbuttoned his waistcoat all the way down and did it up again, making sure that every button found its corresponding buttonhole.

‘I don’t know, I thought it looked quite fetching.’ King Thorin was smiling openly now. ‘Maybe you’ll start a new fashion for wearing irregular clothing in Erebor.’

‘Ha-ha.’ Bilbo gave a dry laugh.

‘It’s true. It made you look… younger.’

Bilbo rolled his eyes. ‘That’s not the compliment you think it is.’

‘Sorry.’ The King’s smile dimmed as he looked away.

‘No, it’s fine.’ Bilbo hurried to say, ‘I just don’t necessarily regard “younger” to be a good thing. I mean, look at where youthful folly can get you.’ He nodded towards Frodo in the bed between them.

‘I see what you mean.’ King Thorin murmured.

Bilbo nodded to himself. Yes, he was definitely well past the follies of youth. Though he sometimes wished he had retained some of his earlier recklessness. Maybe if he had more courage, he would stand up, grab that king by the beard, yank him across his nephew’s sickbed, and kiss him absolutely senseless. His hands would wander down and grab two handfuls of that well-shaped arse, while his mouth would want to taste everything it could reach: lips, cheeks, and then down that thick, muscular throat. 

He was sure that such a brazen act between gentle-hobbit and king would be enough to send shock waves throughout Erebor and all the surrounding lands. Snow would melt, birds would fall from the branches, fish would jump out of the river. And young Frodo would wake up to discover his intended and his uncle in a heated clinch right on top of him.

Bilbo laughed quietly to himself at that image.

‘What’s funny?’ King Thorin asked.

Bilbo smirked at him. ‘Nothing. Just thinking of youthful indiscretions.’

 

X—X

 

‘Master Baggins?’ Bilbo looked up at the sound of his name being spoken. The King had only recently left, gathering his work and talking about important meetings to be had.

It was Kíli at the door. But he seemed more subdued than Bilbo normally knew him to be. The lad shuffled into the room, not really looking at anything in particular.

Bilbo tried to catch his eye, smiling reassuringly. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

‘No, I...’ He kept moving about the room with no aim or direction, though at last he came to a standstill by the Frodo’s bed, his hand gripping the back of the vacant chair.

Bilbo closed his book, waiting for whatever this dwarf wanted to do or say.

‘Is there something wrong?’ Bilbo frowned at the lad’s reluctance to speak. ‘Have you spoken to Master Óin? Are there any news about Frodo’s condition?’

‘No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…’ He drummed his fingers against his thigh.

‘Yes?’

Kíli took a deep breath and looked into Bilbo’s eyes.

‘How long have you been in love with Uncle Thorin?’


	15. Chapter 15

_‘How long have you been in love with Uncle Thorin?’_

If Bilbo hadn’t been sitting down, he was sure he would have fainted. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he squeezed the book in his hands until the leather binding groaned beneath the force of his grip. He tried to relax his numb fingers while he drew a deep, shuddering breath.

‘I-- I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He kept eye contact with Kíli only through sheer force of will.

‘I’m not stupid, you know. I know what I saw earlier today. The way you looked at him…’ He trailed off, looking away from Bilbo’s worried gaze.

Bilbo placed the book on the nightstand for fear of twisting it into a misshapen mess with his nervous hands.

‘I wasn’t looking at him.’

‘After Fíli left? When Uncle Thorin was at the desk? I _saw_ you.’ Kíli raised his eyebrows meaningfully. If Bilbo hadn’t been so distraught at this turn of events, he would have almost found it comical.

Bilbo closed his eyes briefly and gave a deep sigh. ‘You can’t tell anyone.’ He looked into Kíli’s eyes. ‘Please…Please don’t tell anyone.’

‘So I was right? You really love him?’

An image appeared in Bilbo’s mind of King Thorin smiling at him, at some silly thing they had been talking about. Bilbo couldn’t remember what it had been, but he was sure he would forever remember that smile and how it made him feel. 

It would be something to keep tight against his chest, protecting it from the jostling of his pony on the way back to the Shire. When he had arrived home, he wouldn’t place it on the mantelpiece under the pictures of his parents, nor would he place it in the windowsill for all of Hobbiton to see. It would be brought gently into his bedroom and placed beneath his pillow. And he would only take it out and hold it close in the deep of the night, when he could almost feel the silence of Bag End settling in his chest.

‘Yes. I love him.’

Kíli pressed his lips together. ‘Are you going to do anything about it?’

‘No.’ Bilbo looked down at his hands. ‘I won’t. I promise.’

Kíli finally sat down in the chair in front of him. He clasped his hands and let them drop between his knees.

‘Uncle’s promised away to Frodo.’ He spoke quietly, almost like he was speaking to himself. ‘Those two getting married is what everyone wants.’ He paused. ‘Well, except Mum.’

‘Lady Dís disapproves?’ This was news to Bilbo. She had been nothing but gracious towards the two hobbits since they had arrived in Erebor.

‘She thinks Frodo’s far too young.’ Kíli sighed. ‘And she doesn’t think he’ll be much more matured when he comes of age in September.’

Bilbo looked up at the dwarf. ‘Has she spoken of this to the King?’

‘I’m not sure. I think she has. She usually isn’t shy of voicing her opinions to Uncle Thorin.’

Bilbo smiled a bit. He had grown a healthy respect for the Lady while he had been in Erebor and, knowing that she considers this match a bad idea as well, only raised his regard for her even further.

Kíli bit slightly on his lower lip. ‘I’m sorry this has happened to you. It must be awful to feel like this.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Bilbo said shortly. He knew the lad meant well, but this felt like the dwarf was stepping with heavy boots on his already downtrodden feelings.

‘It would have been better if you and Frodo had never visited Erebor. Then you would never have meet Uncle and you wouldn’t...’ Kíli hesitated. ‘You wouldn’t have fallen in love with him.’

‘Yes…’ Bilbo shook his head. ‘Though I don’t know that I would prefer that possibility.’

‘Really?’ Kíli’s eyes widened.

‘I just – I know I’ll miss him when I’m back in the Shire, but at least I’ll have him to miss. I’ll have _known_ him. No matter what happens, I’ll have that.’ Bilbo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It felt freeing to finally be able to talk about this to someone else. And even though he would never have imagined that it would be the youngest prince of Erebor, Bilbo was grateful to Kíli for his kind and patient attention.

The dwarf nodded in understanding. ‘I have to be honest with you: I don’t know what to do now. I feel for you, I really do, and I know Mum has a point, too. But Frodo’s my friend and then there’s that trade agreement and…’ He sighed. ‘It’s all very complicated. If only I knew what Uncle’s feelings were on the matter.’

‘You and me both,’ Bilbo mumbled. 

Kíli chuckled. ‘He’s difficult to read, isn’t he? Everyone thinks so. It’s a good talent to have as a king presiding over a difficult council, but it’s of little help when it comes to this.’ He gestured between Bilbo and himself.

The room grew silent, but Kíli kept staring at Bilbo’s face, seemingly trying to read something in the hobbit’s features.

‘I won’t tell anyone,’ he finally said. ‘Well, except Fíli.’

Bilbo made to object, but Kíli raised his hand to silence him. ‘Before you say anything, you should know that I can’t keep any secrets from Fíli. And it would be useless to try.’

Bilbo slumped into his chair. ‘Alright.’

‘And my brother and I will both keep our eyes and ears open when around Uncle Thorin. Maybe we can find a solution to your problem.’

‘I don’t know…’ Bilbo imagined the two lads hiding behind curtains and ducking below tables, while trying to spy on the King. And when discovered, as they surely would be, they would tell everything about their mission to help Bilbo out.

‘No, it’s fine. We’ll be really casual about it. Completely natural.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of. You two acting naturally.’ Bilbo smiled slightly at the young dwarf.

Kíli laughed. ‘You’re alright, Master Baggins.’

Bilbo’s eyes creased at the corners. ‘Please, call me Bilbo.’

 

X—X

 

He was hurrying from his rooms back to the apothecary. Bilbo had left Bofur in charge of watching Frodo while he got a new book from the library and a fresh handkerchief from his closet. The miner had been unable to visit the two hobbits before now, as there had been some kind of breakthrough down in the lower mines, and the foreman needed all the hands he could get to clear out the rubble.

Bilbo moved quickly through the hallways. He had now become quite familiar with the intricate routes through the mountain and no longer got lost or needed a guide to help him.

A door opened further down the hallway, and a couple of servants carrying laundry stepped out and moved down the same passageway as Bilbo. They hadn’t seemed to notice the hobbit walking behind them.

‘-- And he sits there all day, and sometimes most nights, just staring at his intended, waiting for him to wake up.’ The smaller dwarrowdam breathed out, clutching the bundle of laundry closer to her chest.

Bilbo frowned. He could guess who they were talking about, but the King had only visited a couple of times while Frodo had been unconscious, and he had hardly been staring at the lad during these visits. Most of the time, he worked at the desk or sat by the bed, chatting with Bilbo.

‘I heard that his Majesty has covered the sickbed with the finest sapphires, saying they are a poor substitute for his beloved’s blue eyes, but he will need their beauty until Master Frodo opens his gem-like orbs once again.’ The other dwarf sighed dreamily.

‘Really?’ The dwarrowdam’s tone of voice was slightly testy. ‘I’m sure I heard from Dagmi down in the kitchens, that the bed was covered in diamonds to match the brilliance of the hobbit’s pale skin.’

‘What would Dagmi know about it?’ He was getting annoyed ‘She’s just a simple scullery maid. Who tells her anything?’

‘Oh, and I suppose you know that bit about the sapphires from your daily talks with the King himself!’ 

She gathered the laundry into a tighter bundle and walked ahead of her companion, who hurried to catch up with her. Bilbo could hear their argument continuing as they moved quickly away from him.

He bit his lips to keep from laughing too loudly. Covering a nice, soft bed with hard gemstones! What an idea.

It appears that gossip spreads just as quickly and takes as many weird turns here in Erebor as it does back in the Shire. These dwarves must imagine their king to be a great romantic soul. 

Bilbo shook his head, smiling as he did. What they didn’t know was how long King Thorin could sit in silence before feeling moved to speak. How his smiles were far between but all the more precious for it. How his eyes sometimes looked tired when he thought no one was looking, but seemed to liven up whenever Bilbo addressed him. And they didn’t know how much all of this endeared him immensely to some insignificant, hobbit chaperone.

The idea of a bed of gemstones was still amusing him when he arrived at the apothecary. He gave a nod to one of Master Óin’s assistants as he moved to Frodo’s room where he opened the door.

‘Bofur, you’ll never guess what I just heard – Oh.’ Bilbo stopped short with his hand clutching the door handle.

Bofur was still there, sitting next to the fire while carving some sort of shape into a piece of wood, letting the wood shavings fall into the flames. And Frodo was still lying quietly in his bed.

Only they weren’t alone. On the other side of the room from Bofur, King Thorin was sitting at his usual place by the desk. He looked up shortly at Bilbo’s appearance, but then returned his gaze to the document he was reading.

The miner glanced between Bilbo and the King. He gave a small smile to the hobbit. ‘Back again, Bilbo?’

Bilbo looked back shortly at the silent King before crossing the room to check on Frodo. ‘Any change?’

Bofur gathered the piece of wood and the knife in one hand, as he stood up to join Bilbo at the bed. ‘One o’ Master Óin’s assistants came by to check on ‘im. She said that there ain’t a smidgen o’ fever left.’

Bilbo released the breath he had been holding. ‘That’s good. Maybe he’ll wake up soon.’

‘Maybe.’ Bofur shifted slightly.

‘Can you stay for a while longer?’ Bilbo gestured to one of the chairs around the bed. ‘Or do you need to go back to work?’

‘No, I can stay for a bit.’ Bofur moved to sit in the chair on the other side of the bed with his back to King Thorin.

Bilbo also sat down, trying to keep his gaze from wandering towards the King. He could hear the parchment rustling from the desk and a slight creak of the chair as the King moved, but Bilbo kept his attention on Bofur.

The miner placed his carving on the nightstand next to him and put the knife back in the sheath hanging from his belt. 

Bilbo looked at the rough wooden carving. It was clearly unfinished, but he could already see what Bofur had planned.

‘Is that an oliphaunt?’ He nodded at the small thing.

Bofur smiled and picked it back up. ‘Yes,’ He turned it in his hands, letting his thumb feel the still-rough texture of the grain. ‘My cousin Bifur taugh’ me ‘ow to do it. Though I’ll never be as good as ‘im. _His_ toys are bought by royalty.’ He gave a glance over his shoulder to the King. ‘But it’s a nice way to keep the hands busy on a quiet night.’ He handed the small figure to Bilbo.

He stood up to take it. ‘Bifur? Is he the one’s that’s a bit…?’ He trailed off, not being able to find a polite word for what Bifur was.

Bofur gave a crooked smile. ‘Yeah, he’s a bit something, alright. But good as gold and can make the most clever toys.’

Bilbo sat back down and studied the carving from all sides. ‘It’s lovely, Bofur.’ He could hear a creak coming from the desk but he ignored it. It really was a beautiful piece of work: an image of a charging oliphaunt, its mouth open, its trunk high up in the air, and its ears fully extended. Rage was written in every muscle of its body

‘Thanks,’ Bofur was still smiling. ‘It’s for Frodo, for when he wakes up. I know ‘ow much he likes oliphaunts.’

‘He’ll love it.’ Bilbo was still turning the toy in his hands. ‘Though I think you’ve made the tusks too big.’

‘No, I ‘aven’t.’ Bofur looked down at the carving. ‘That’s how they are in nature.’

‘No, look,’ Bilbo held the wooden carving aloft. ‘If it lowered its head and stood relaxed, the tusks would almost touch the ground. That can’t be right.’

‘I’m afraid Master Bofur is correct.’ A deep voice sounded as the King stood up and went to join them by the bed. He reached down and disentangled the toy from Bilbo’s grip, his fingers touching Bilbo’s slightly. The hobbit clasped his hands in his lap, trying to preserve the heat from those broad hands.

‘If it’s an older, male oliphaunt, their tusks can grow to this size.’ The King studied the carving. ‘At least that’s what I’m told by the traders from Harad.’ He handed the toy back to Bofur. ‘Excellent work, Master Bofur.’

‘Thank ye.’ The miner placed the toy back on the nightstand.

Bilbo frowned up at the King. What was going on? This was the dwarf, who had previously fled the room at the mere sight of Bofur. This was the dwarf, whose voice had grown cold and fingers had clenched at any mention of Bilbo’s friendship with the miner. Now he was being courteous? Being kind?

King Thorin nodded to the both of them and went back to his seat by the desk. 

Bilbo and Bofur kept chatting back and forth about this and that, though Bilbo’s attention strayed once in a while to the desk in the corner. He tried to restrain his urge to stare at the King, remembering that it was this exact same situation that had revealed his feelings to Kíli.

After they had been sitting in a comfortable silence for a moment, Bofur stood up and stretched his back slightly. 

‘I have to go now, Bilbo.’ The hobbit followed him to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see King Thorin raise his head from his work and take note of their movement through the room.

‘I’ll see you again soon, Bofur.’ Bilbo smiled at his friend. This was progress, he thought: Being able to talk to each other without awkward moments and uncomfortable silences between them. It would be alright again between the two friends.

The miner nodded shortly at Bilbo and the King before leaving.

‘Master Baggins?’ Bilbo turned around to face King Thorin. ‘I would like your opinion on something.’

‘Yes?’ He moved to the desk, where he stood close to the seated king. The side of King Thorin’s surcoat brushed against Bilbo and he felt delicious warmth radiating from the dwarf.

‘I have written this letter to your Thain,’ King Thorin picked up a parchment from the desk, ‘Informing him about Master Frodo’s illness. Could you read it over and tell me if I’m giving any unintentional offence to a leader of hobbits?’

Bilbo smiled at him teasingly. ‘Do you often insult people without meaning to?’

‘Oh, all the time.’ King Thorin’s eyes danced with mirth. ‘I’m sure I’ve insulted you once or twice since our first meeting.’ He handed the letter to Bilbo.

‘Once or twice.’ He looked down at the parchment, but that angular handwriting didn’t appeal to him just yet. He wanted to keep talking.

‘But you _can_ be nice,’ Bilbo said. ‘What you said to Bofur about his carving… That was very kind of you.’

The King let his hand slide over the grain of the desk. ‘It was nothing but the truth.’

‘Yes, but still. Bofur is a dear friend, and I wouldn’t want him to feel unwelcome in my chambers for fear of bumping into some aloof king.’

‘A friend?’ King Thorin looked into his eyes.

Bilbo remembered the rumours circulating about Bofur and himself. He had hoped that telling Ori the truth would do something to shatter the misinformation spreading around Erebor, but apparently some of it still lingered.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘A very good friend.’

King Thorin licked his lips and looked down at the desk. ‘That’s good to hear.’ He nodded to himself. ‘It’s good that you’re making friends in Erebor. Yes, very good.’

‘That’s three times you’ve said “good” now.’ Bilbo smiled.

The King looked at him and returned the smile. ‘Well, it _is_ good.’ As he noticed the hobbit chuckling at his poor vocabulary, he shook his head fondly. ‘Just read the blasted letter.’

Bilbo was still smiling as he started to read the first paragraph. Gradually, he became aware of sounds coming from behind him. At first he thought it was just a log moving in the fireplace, but he was soon convinced otherwise by the King glancing over his shoulder and quickly standing up. He bumped into Bilbo and grabbed his shoulders to keep him from falling.

‘I don’t think we’ll have need of that letter after all.’ King Thorin said.

‘What?’ Bilbo twisted around in the King’s grip, and he held his breath at what he was seeing.

Frodo was waking up. He groaned and twisted slightly on the bed, his eyes squinting against the light in the room.

‘Frodo!’ Bilbo hurried to the bed, grabbing his nephew’s hand and staring at his face. He smiled when he saw awareness of the surroundings suffusing Frodo’s face. That was what had worried him the most. That the lad would come away from this with some irreparable damage to his mind.

‘Uncle Bilbo?’ His voice was raspy and low. ‘’m thirsty.’

Bilbo couldn’t stop smiling even though he could have cried at hearing those words. ‘Yes, of course, just…’ He looked around, trying to focus on the other objects in the room, when a large hand held a cup of water in front of his face. He took it quickly from the King and could feel him moving away from them to stand at the foot of the bed.

‘Just raise your head slightly, my lad.’ Bilbo said as Frodo drank gratefully. The water wasn’t exactly fresh, as it had been standing in the pitcher all day, but the young hobbit enjoyed it like it was the finest spring water.

Frodo laid his head back on the pillow. ‘Thank you.’ He closed his eyes again.

‘Now you’re not thinking of sleeping again, are you?’ Bilbo ran his hand over his nephew’s brow, relishing the feel of Frodo’s eyelashes twitching beneath his palm. ‘You’ve done nothing but sleep for the last few days.’

‘Have I?’ Frodo stretched slightly. ‘What an odd thing to do.’

His uncle giggled though his eyes felt damp.

King Thorin stirred. ‘I’ll go get Master Óin, shall I?’

Bilbo looked up at him, his whole face alight with joy. ‘Yes, please do.’

The King’s eyes warmed at the sight of the two hobbits reunited again. His gaze especially remained fixed on the way Bilbo couldn’t stop smiling and how every one of his words seemed ready to teeter over into a laugh at any moment.

He looked down and nodded. ‘I’ll leave you two alone then.’ He walked to the door and opened it.

‘Your Majesty?’ Bilbo was still caressing Frodo’s hand but looked up at the departing king.

King Thorin stopped before crossing the threshold. ‘Yes?’

He could feel all the tension of the last few days leaving his body. Bilbo smiled at the King. ‘Thank you.’

King Thorin inclined his head while still gazing at Bilbo’s flushed and happy face. His voice was warm as he said, ‘You’re most welcome.’


	16. Chapter 16

Master Óin proclaimed Frodo to be in surprisingly good health. The lad was sitting up and being alert within an hour of waking up, and within a day he was flanked by his two friends, Fíli and Kíli.

‘I remember falling down from the ledge,’ Frodo said while he clutched a cup of water between his hands, ‘But everything else is sort of gone. It doesn’t feel any different from having overslept an hour or so.’

‘Did you have any dreams?’ Kíli asked.

‘None that I can remember.’

‘Everything inside your head was probably all knocked together by your fall,’ Fíli grinned. ‘You’re lucky you can remember your own name.’

‘ _Can_ you remember your own name?’ Kíli asked, laughing. ‘We should do a check to see if his mind still works, Fíli!’ The brothers laughed loudly while Frodo slapped them lightly on their arms. He soon joined in their merriment.

Bilbo looked up from sorting his and Frodo’s clothes. They would soon return to their chambers, and he wanted to be ready with their packing. He smiled at seeing his nephew sitting up in bed, chatting and laughing.

Kíli was still grinning as he turned to speak to Bilbo. ‘Come and join us.’

‘Yes,’ Fíli said. ‘Leave those clothes for later.’

Bilbo shook his head. ‘I can hear you three fine from where I’m standing, and this needs to be done.’

‘Well, alright.’ Fíli said. ‘But you can’t do it now, anyway. We’ve been sent to escort you and Frodo to Mum’s chambers. She’s invited you to dinner to celebrate Frodo’s recovery.’

‘I don’t know…’ Bilbo said. ‘Frodo’s only been awake for about a day. I think it would be too taxing for him.’

‘Uncle Thorin will be there, too.’ Kíli said meaningfully as he raised his eyebrows in Bilbo´s direction while Fíli winked at him.

The older hobbit pressed his lips together and gave a significant nod towards Frodo, trying to make them aware of his presence in the room. He _knew_ these two young dwarves would have difficulty keeping his secret. And now he was expected to spend an evening with the perceptive Lady Dís, his oblivious nephew, and King Thorin while the two lads would probably do everything but put on an educational puppet show to advertise his love for their uncle.

‘I’ll be alright, Uncle Bilbo.’ Frodo was already sitting up more in his bed, ready to push off his covers. ‘I’ve done nothing but sleep for the last couple of days. I think I have the energy for a simple dinner.’

‘Then that’s settled!’ Kíli stood up and clapped his hands together. ‘We’ll wait outside for you. Come out when you’re ready.’ He went out the door, and Fíli followed him with a friendly wave to the two hobbits.

Bilbo shook his head and went back to sorting the clothes. He was holding out a jacket in front of him, examining it for any stains when he heard Frodo’s quiet voice.

‘Are we still going back to the Shire?’

Bilbo frowned and put the jacket down. ‘No. We’re snowed in. No one can leave the mountain until spring.’

‘But we’re leaving then?’

He sat down on the edge of Frodo’s bed. ‘I don’t know, lad. I know I’ve not been reasonable towards you. On the one hand, I expect you to be grown-up enough to enter into a courtship and decide whether or not you want to marry. On the other hand, I was ready to cart you off, like a silly child, back to the Shire, whether you wanted to or not.’ He sighed. ‘I’m afraid your uncle is an old fool.’

‘You’re not _that_ old.’ Frodo put a warm hand on his back.

‘Oh? Just a bit old then?’ Bilbo smiled at his nephew.

‘Just a bit.’ Frodo’s eyes were warm as he moved his hand steadily between Bilbo’s shoulder blades.

‘I’ll take that.’ Bilbo stood up. ‘Now let’s get you out of bed and into some clothes. If we have to be forced into these endless dinners with dwarven royalty, we’ll at least look respectable.’

‘Respectable?’ Frodo pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘That’s one of your favourite words.’

Bilbo moved to hold his arm behind Frodo’s back, supporting him as he stood up. He could feel the weight of the body sagging into his grasp, but the lad seemed to be otherwise able to support himself as he walked slowly to a nearby washstand. Bilbo left him there alone but still hovered close, in case he was needed.

‘What’s wrong with being respectable?’ Bilbo said as he noticed how the muscles in Frodo’s back seemed to strain with exertion.

‘Nothing.’ Frodo slowly splashed some water in his face. ‘Just make sure that’s not all you are.’

Bilbo made no response, handed him a towel, and retreated to their temporary closet, choosing which clothes to take out for dinner.

 

X—X

 

Lady Dís was nothing if not an accommodating hostess. 

The guests were only her brother, her two sons and the hobbits, so as to not expose Frodo to too much activity and chatter at once. To spare Frodo’s newly-opened eyes, the room was dimly lit with candles giving a warm glow to the people gathered there. Even the food seemed to be tailor-made for the young hobbit: no heavy stews or sweet cakes, but light broths, simple meats, and even a few greens.

Bilbo could have kissed her when he saw the care she had taken for Frodo’s first real dinner.

Despite his worries about Fíli and Kíli’s lack of discretion, the two lads were apparently able to control themselves. They didn’t even hint at knowing any of Bilbo’s scandalous secrets, nor paid undue attention to their uncle’s movements and expressions. Maybe it was because they were mostly concerned with talking to Frodo, listening to Frodo, looking at Frodo. They were like two young boys, who had had their favourite puppy taken away from them, and it was now returned. After dinner, the three lads moved to sit in front of the fire, talking excitedly about their next training session and hoping Frodo would be up for it.

Lady Dís engaged Bilbo in a conversation about the latest book he had been reading: the history of the line of Durin. It had been a very serious, historical tome, but she quickly supplied some salacious details about her ancestors that made Bilbo’s cheeks flush.

‘—And that’s how Thorin the First became known as “The Impaler” in more than one sense.’ She smirked as she took another sip from her cup.

‘Oh, my. The author definitely didn’t include that in the book.’ Bilbo’s face was warm. In fact, his entire body felt overly hot. He had definitely had more than a good share of this excellent wine. King Thorin had said it had come all the way from Gondor, and Bilbo had never tasted anything like it. It had a heady taste with just a hint of spicy cherries. Bilbo took another mouthful to cover up his embarrassment at Lady Dís’s saucy tales.

King Thorin had up till now not said much during dinner. He had seemed to be content to be surrounded by his family and the two hobbits, listening to them talking and enjoying themselves. 

‘Dís, you’re making poor Master Baggins feel uncomfortable. Remember, he’s a very _proper_ hobbit.’ King Thorin’s eyes glimmered in the low candlelight as he looked between his sister and Bilbo. Maybe he had also had a few cups of that Gondorian wine.

Lady Dís chuckled. ‘He should get used to it if he’s to live among dwarves. Can’t have such genteel behaviour here in Erebor.’

Bilbo twisted the stem of his cup between his fingers. It was gold with an engraved decoration on the side.

‘Ah, but I will still need it when I return to the Shire,’ He said, ‘Us hobbits set a great value on good manners.’

The table suddenly grew quiet. All that could be heard was the clink of King Thorin’s cup on the table as he sat it down heavily.

Lady Dís blinked and then frowned. ‘Return to the Shire? But I thought you were going to stay here with Frodo. With us.’ Her eyes glanced quickly at her brother before coming to rest on Bilbo again.

‘Only until Frodo comes of age. Then I’ll go back and see if Bag End’s still standing.’ Bilbo smiled weakly at the two dwarves, but they didn’t respond in the same fashion. The Lady was still frowning, and King Thorin held his cup firmly within a large fist, his gaze fixed on Bilbo.

‘But didn’t—‘ Lady Dís said before she was interrupted by her brother.

‘You’re welcome to stay here in Erebor, Master Baggins.’ The King’s voice was low but intent. ‘More than welcome.’

Please don’t say those polite words to me, Bilbo thought. I might believe them. 

Instead he said, ‘Thank you, but I really must see to my garden. If I go back soon after Frodo’s coming-of-age, I might be able to get it ready in time for the next winter.’ His smile still stayed fixed on his face, determined to remain cheerful even while thinking of his departure from Erebor, from King Thorin. 

‘I shudder to think what this winter will have done to my plants.’ He said.

‘That’s what’s forcing you back to the Shire? A garden?’ Lady Dís asked.

‘Don’t pester him, Dís.’ King Thorin said, though he didn’t look at either her or Bilbo. ‘Master Baggins must have his own reasons for leaving.’ His voice darkened. ‘Even though they make no sense whatsoever to you and me.’

‘Did you really think I would stay after… After Frodo’s marriage?’ Bilbo had never even considered that a possibility. And he didn’t know what would hurt him more: Staying in Erebor, seeing the King and his nephew together, and being reminded every day that what he wanted most in the world could never be. Or was it never seeing King Thorin again, only living with the memory of him while he was alone in Bag End.

‘Yes, of course we did.’ Lady Dís said. ‘You’re making friends here. And Frodo. Surely you would miss Frodo?’ Her tone was beginning to sound desperate.

‘I would miss him.’ Bilbo sighed. ‘But I never expected to keep him at Bag End with me forever.’

The Lady pressed her lips together and turned to her brother, speaking low and urgent, ‘Thorin, why aren’t you—‘

‘Mum?’ Fíli’s voice sounded from the fireplace.

She sighed and turned to her son. ‘Yes?’

‘Frodo’s feeling tired. We’re going to bring him back to the apothecary and then go to bed ourselves.’ Fíli said while Kíli was helping the hobbit up from the soft chair. Frodo’s eyes were heavy-lidded, and he leant back into the dwarf’s arm, which was close around his shoulders.

Bilbo stood up and moved to the door. ‘Maybe I should go with you.’ 

‘No, you stay and enjoy yourself, Bilbo.’ Kíli smiled cheekily at his use of the hobbit’s first name. ‘We’ll take care of him. We wouldn’t want to deprive Mum of all her guests at once.’

‘Goodnight, Uncle Bilbo.’ Frodo murmured with a small smile.

‘Goodnight, lad.’ Bilbo remained standing, wringing his hands as the three left the room.

Lady Dís sighed again. ‘Well, might as well get someone to clear this table.’ And she went out of the room as well. 

Bilbo could hear the scrape of the chair, as King Thorin stood up behind him.

‘Come sit by the fire with me, Master Baggins. It’ll be warmer there.’

Bilbo followed him to the fireplace, only now noticing that the King had brought the last bottle of the Gondorian wine and two clean cups with him. 

He placed his procured goods on the table between them and, without asking, poured some wine into a cup and offered it to Bilbo.

‘Thank you.’ He said and took a small sip. His head still felt a bit heavy from the previous cups of wine.

King Thorin held his own cup between his hands and stared into the flames.

Bilbo took the opportunity to study that strong profile. Did he once think that nose was too big? What rubbish. It was exactly the right size. And the light from the fire gave the entire face a warm, welcoming glow.

‘So you’ve given Kíli permission to call you by your first name?’ The King’s voice was low.

‘Yes, and I guess Fíli, too.’ Bilbo said. ‘Now that they’re so close to Frodo, it seemed silly to keep to rigid manners.’

King Thorin hummed and took a sip from his cup.

They sat quietly for a while, listening to the crackle of the fire. Bilbo vaguely wondered where Lady Dís had got to, but he allowed himself to just enjoy being with King Thorin without any interruptions.

‘Do you really miss your garden that much?’ The King broke the silence, as he sat a bit straighter in his chair.

‘Not the garden itself. But I miss growing something, seeing the results of my work.’

‘I understand. I feel the same sometimes.’ King Thorin met Bilbo’s eyes, smiling slightly. ‘Only I don’t grow carrots and daisies. I borrow the castle forge for half a day and create something in metal.’

‘Really?’ Bilbo could easily imagine this dwarf with his shirt off, sweat dripping down his chest from the heat coming off the hearth. The muscles in his strong arms would flex and strain, as he lifted up a heavy hammer and let it drop down on the sturdy anvil again and again.

‘Oh, yes. That golden flower I gave to Frodo? I made that myself.’ He took another mouthful of wine.

‘Oh, no!’ Bilbo covered his mouth with his hand. ‘The one I was so disparaging about?’

‘The very same.’ King Thorin chuckled at Bilbo’s mortification. ‘Don’t worry. I wasn’t offended. I know now that hobbits don’t court with metals and gemstones like we dwarves do.’

‘No, we don’t.’ Bilbo took another drink from his cup to cover his smile at hearing the King’s laugh.

King Thorin offered the bottle of wine to Bilbo and filled his suddenly empty cup. The King repeated the action in his own cup and lifted his drink in a silent salute before they both drank again.

‘How do hobbits court then?’ He relaxed into his chair while waiting for an answer.

Bilbo’s head had started to feel heavy again, and his cheeks were warm. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s nothing definite.’ He matched the King’s comfortable posture in his seat.

‘A gift of flowers, _real_ flowers, mind you. A shared meal, a dance at a fete, walking alone together in the forest. Just being together and showing the world that you hold each other dear. Most hobbits are unable to hide it, once they’re with their loved ones.’

‘Are they?’ The King’s voice was quiet. ‘And have you ever courted anybody, Master Baggins? Back in the Shire?’

‘There was someone, once or twice.’ Bilbo thought of Adalgrim Took, who was now wedded and expecting his first child. ‘But it never amounted to much.’

‘So that’s not why you have to return to the Shire so soon? To get back to a promised marriage?’ King Thorin raised his eyes to look into Bilbo’s.

‘No, nothing like that.’ Bilbo bit his lower lip. ‘There’s no one waiting for me.’

‘Really?’ The King’s tone of voice was dry as he took another short sip of his wine.

Bilbo licked his lips, as he wondered if he dared ask what he really wanted to. He drank a large mouthful of wine and blurted it out.

‘Have you ever courted someone?’ He paused, gathering his wits again. ‘I mean, before Frodo.’

The King looked away. ‘No, never.’

‘Never?’ Bilbo frowned. How could that be? A great dwarven king who looked like…well, like that. How had he not been swarmed in his youth by eager suitors?

King Thorin sighed, rolling the cup between his hands. ‘My father died when I was very young, not much older than Fíli is now. Thank Mahal that I had Balin to guide and to help me back then. He and Dwalin became my firm companions and stoutest supporters in the first troublesome years of my reign. Some of the older dwarves were angry at having to kneel to such a young king, while others conspired to put my cousin Dáin of the Iron Mountains on the throne instead. These brewing problems vanished with time, but I had to work hard to convince my detractors of my worth as a king in those early years.’

The King twisted slightly in his seat, forcing his shoulders to relax again. ‘And that didn’t leave much time for love and courtship.’

Bilbo was silent for a while, drinking his wine thoughtfully. 

‘I’m sorry.’ He finally said.

King Thorin’s voice was soft. ‘What for?’

‘I don’t know. For everything, I guess. For never having loved someone like that, never having loved someone enough to want to court them.’

The King Thorin gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘You have no idea.’ He said and drank deeply from his cup.

Bilbo bit his lip. ‘And now you’re courting Frodo.’

‘And now I’m courting Frodo.’ The King leant forward in his chair, letting the cup dangle between his knees.

Bilbo didn’t know what possessed him. Maybe it was the silence of the room. Maybe it was the surrounding darkness, leaving the two of them together on an island of light in front of the fireplace. Or maybe it was the numerous cups of wine he had drunk during the evening. But Bilbo finally did something reckless.

He leant forward towards the King, his whole body tipping over until he was kneeling on the floor in front of the dwarf. He could feel King Thorin’s knees bumping against his sides. His hand easily found those two large ones, where it fished the cup from their grip and placed it one the floor between them. His eyes were averted from the King’s gaze as he gently joined their hands, studying the differences between them in the low light. They were both slightly weathered from long use, though King Thorin’s hands were slightly darker in colour and had a fresher callous on the right index finger. 

But the size difference was astounding. Bilbo had always thought that he had a strong grasp, good for pulling weeds and pushing wheelbarrows. But these broad fingers could easily break the fine bones in his hands as easily as pulling apart a piece of toast. Bilbo let his thumbs brush over the back of King Thorin’s hands. But somehow he knew they wouldn’t. He felt completely safe in the King’s soft grip.

‘Bilbo?’ That deep voice was close, so close and Bilbo lifted his head to hear more of those soothing tones.

The King’s eyes were wide and he kept looking back and forth between Bilbo’s face and their clasped hands. ‘What are you doing?’ His breath smelled like spicy cherries, but Bilbo had no answer.

He kept staring at those beautiful eyes. They were a more dark blue next to the orange glow of the flames. They reminded Bilbo of deep forest lakes in the summer, warm on the surface but cold in the deep.

He lowered his head to rest his forehead against the back of King Thorin’s hands. He could hear a quiet gasp coming from above him as he asked, ‘Do you love Frodo?’

‘What?’

‘Do you love him? Or do you think you will grow to love him?’

One of King Thorin’s hands moved away from his grip, but before Bilbo could despair at the loss of contact, he felt it coming to rest on top of his head, the fingers slightly flexing into his curls.

Bilbo lifted his head slightly, pressing into that heavy weight. If he’d had his wits about him, he was sure he would have laughed at this cat-like behaviour. But right now, in this room, in this silence, in this warmth, he didn’t care one bit.

The hand slid slowly down his head, past his temple and coming to rest beneath his chin. It lifted his head until he was looking into King Thorin’s heated eyes.

‘I don’t want to talk about Frodo right now.’ He murmured as his fingers slightly moved across Bilbo’s cheek.

‘Oh?’ Bilbo shuffled forward on his knees. ‘And what do you want to tal—‘ 

_CLANG_

The King sat up stiffly in his chair, while Bilbo surged back to sit on his heels, as he noticed the source of that awful noise. He had knocked over King Thorin’s cup on the stone floor, and now wine was both soaking into the knees of his trousers and threatening a nearby carpet.

‘Oh, dear.’ Bilbo’s head had cleared completely, and he stood up quickly, turning his back to the seated king. ‘Let me get a cloth.’ He moved towards the table, looking for any kind of clean fabric.

The King stood up and followed. Bilbo could see him out of the corner of his eyes, could see how he roughly wiped a hand over his face and sighed irritably.

Bilbo finally found something to wipe up the spilled wine and went back to the chairs in front of the fireplace.

‘Just leave it.’ The King’s voice came behind him.

Bilbo started to kneel down again. ‘Let me just—‘

‘I said, leave it!’ 

The shout seemed to echo through the silent room, the walls almost vibrating with the force of it. Bilbo stood back up and stared at King Thorin. They held eye contact until the King almost growled with irritation and turned his back to the hobbit, throwing his hands into the air.

Bilbo pressed his lips together until they were almost white. He threw down the cloth on the spilled liquid and marched towards the door, wrenching it open. He stopped in the doorway, his whole body hot with anger. 

He turned back to the King. ‘Goodnight, _your Majesty_.’ He sneered as he watched those broad shoulders become tense.

There was no reply, so Bilbo slammed the door behind him and marched down the passageway, clenching and unclenching his hands with barely suppressed rage. He could still feel the heat of King Thorin’s hands on his head, on his cheeks, on his chin, and that only made him angrier. 

Fool! Stupid, drunken, idiotic fool! What were you trying to do, Bilbo Baggins? Why were you on your knees? Were you begging him for one small token of affection? Did you want to feel his hands on your body before completely losing him to Frodo? What a sad, pathetic hobbit you are!

While Bilbo was busy chastising himself, he didn’t notice someone else coming towards him in the hallway until he smacked into an iron-like chest. He looked up.

‘Master Dwalin.’ He tried to calm his erratic breathing before the dwarf noticed.

‘Master Baggins. I heard from Lady Dís that the King was with you. Where can I find him?’

Bilbo blinked. It was late at night. Why did the captain of the guard need to speak with the King now?

‘I left him in Lady Dís’s chambers.’

‘Alright,’ Dwalin said shortly before moving past Bilbo.

The hobbit stared after him, as he tried to gather his thoughts before the dwarf was out of sight. He called after Dwalin. ‘What can be so urgent that you have to speak to him now?’ 

The large dwarf didn’t slow his pace, nor glance back at Bilbo. He said only one word.

‘Orcs.’


	17. Chapter 17

The news quickly spread throughout Erebor the next day. Apparently, a group of orcs had taken shelter in a cave on the south side of the mountain. The cave, where they had gathered, used to connect straight to Erebor, once having been used by a group of dwarf tanners as an airy place to stretch out their prepared animal hides. That was until a rock slide completely barred the passageway down into the cave, shutting it off from the rest of the mountain. 

‘Do you really think they would try to break in through a wall of rocks? It must be quite impenetrable.’ Bilbo was having tea in Balin’s office. It was the only calm place in Erebor. Here you couldn’t hear the rattling of axe and armour as the King prepared a “welcome party” for these orcs.

Balin put down his quill. ‘Not quite impenetrable. With strong bodies and a leader who cares nothing for the loss of life among his group, they could drag the rocks away within a week.’ He sighed and rubbed his forehead. ‘The frost and the lack of food has driven them this far into Erebor. Once the hunger truly sets in, they will do anything. Even break their backs to go through stone. They are like rats in that way.’

‘I’ve never seen an orc in my life.’ Bilbo turned his cup back and forth in its saucer. ‘Are they very horrible?’

‘They ignore pain, they feel no love, and they have no remorse at killing. They are the very basest of creatures. Their bodies are strong but their minds are weak. They are able fighters but lack no direction in their strategy.’ 

Bilbo’s mouth felt dry. He forced himself to take a sip of his tea, but it did little to help. These were the creatures that King Thorin was going to fight. Strong warriors with no morals. Bilbo tried swallowing again but his throat just made a clicking sound.

Balin didn’t seem to notice that Bilbo had gone quiet. He kept talking as he picked up his quill. ‘I confess I do not know which kind of enemy I would prefer: A muscled idiot or a clever weakling.’ He chuckled lightly to himself.

Bilbo bit his lower lip. ‘Do you know how many there are in the cave?’

‘Our scouts say about thirty, no more than forty.’

Forty hungry orcs, desperate in the bitter cold, willing to do anything to survive. And King Thorin was going to look for them. Bilbo breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. He would be alright. He had to be alright. Please, let him be alright.

‘Are you ill, Master Baggins?’ Bilbo opened his eyes again to see Balin looking at him. He had wrinkled his brow in concern.

Bilbo pushed his chair back and stood up slowly. ‘Yes, I…I think I’ll go to my room for a little while.’

‘Very well.’ Balin stood up as well. ‘Can you find your way? Do you need me to go with you?’

Bilbo shook his head. ‘No, I’ll be fine.’ He said and closed the door behind him.

The hallways were tense with nervous excitement. Dwarves seemed to walk past him quicker, and most of them were wearing some sort of protective layer, from thick leather on the servants to decorated and gold-plated metal on the lords and ladies. Without thinking about it, Bilbo buttoned his coat and turned up the collar to cover his neck.

Every conversation around him seemed more hushed. Dwarves were usually loud and boisterous. Now they whispered together, grabbing each other’s hands or shoulders as they walked from here to there.

There was a piercing sound of metal hitting stone behind him, and he turned to see some young apprentice being berated by his superior for dropping three expensive-looking swords. The lad was nodding along to everything his master was saying, and Bilbo could see how his hands shook as he gathered the weapons in his arms again.

Bilbo walked on, trying to ignore the tightening in his throat. He didn’t know whether he was going to cry or be sick. 

‘Uncle Bilbo!’ 

He looked up. Frodo, flanked by Fíli and Kíli, was walking towards him. They looked more serious than Bilbo had ever seen them.

‘Frodo,’ He stopped in front of the trio, surreptitiously moving them to stand in a small alcove, so as to not block the busy hallway. ‘Shouldn’t you be back in our rooms? They’ll be leaving soon—‘

‘You mean Uncle Thorin’s leaving soon.’ Kíli interrupted him while kicking an imaginary pebble.

‘We have to stay behind while he and Dwalin get all the fun.’ Fíli added as he twirled the left braid in his moustache.

‘I’m sure your uncle has his reasons for making you stay.’ Bilbo gave them a sympathetic look. ‘After all, we can’t have all of the royal line out fighting orcs. Who’ll rule Erebor then?’

‘But Mum’ll stay as well,’ Fíli said, ‘And she’s far more capable than any of us.’ Kíli nodded eagerly in agreement.

Frodo slightly bumped his shoulders against each of the two dwarves and smiled up at them. ‘I think it’s good that you’re not going.’ He looked down at the floor. ‘That you’re staying here with me.’

Bilbo bit his lip, stopping whatever he wanted to say at seeing this display of affection between friends. 

Fíli smiled down at the young hobbit. ‘I guess so.’ 

He spoke to Bilbo. ‘We’re taking Frodo to our chambers while Uncle is gone. You should come, too. They won’t be away for more than a night at most.’

Bilbo thought of being alone in his and Frodo’s large rooms, alone with his thoughts and his anxieties about the King. Not being able to sleep, not being able to read, and just waiting for any news. And nothing in the silence but the loud beating of his nervous heart.

‘Yes, I’ll stay with you.’ Bilbo said. ‘I just need to get some things from my room first.’

‘Great.’ Kíli smiled at him. ‘We’re going to eat dinner in the great hall. Meet us there when you’re done?’

‘Yes, alright.’ Bilbo gave a weak smile to the boys as they walked away.

He finally reached his chambers and silently pushed the door open. He stopped as he saw an armoured figure sitting by the desk in the living room.

It was King Thorin, and he was hunched over, writing something. He wore close fitted, plain metal plates on top of his usual blue surcoat. 

Bilbo cleared his throat, and the King quickly looked up towards the door. He carefully put down the quill as his other hand went to the opening in his armour beneath his armpit and quickly stuffed a small, soft thing inside between the metal and his heart.

He stood up, and even from where Bilbo was standing, he could hear the metal of the armour moving noisily together.

‘Master Baggins.’ King Thorin breathed, his hands smoothing over the edge of the desk. Bilbo blushed at the sight of those fingers, remembering how he had embarrassed himself the night before, holding on to the King for dear life, whispering to him drunkenly in the dark.

‘Your Majesty.’ Bilbo averted his eyes as he closed the door behind him. ‘If you’re looking for Frodo, he’s in the great hall with your nephews.’

‘I know. I’ve already spoken with them.’ The King moved closer. ‘I was waiting for you. To say goodbye.’

‘Goodbye?’ Bilbo looked down at the King’s armour and only now noticed the large sword hanging from his side. ‘Are you leaving already?’ He could feel his brow knitting as he looked up at the dwarf.

‘As soon as possible. Dwalin is waiting with his group of soldiers as we speak.’

Bilbo couldn’t look at him. He moved to sit by the table in the middle of the room, staring down at the grain of the wood. ‘Why do you have to go with them? Can’t Dwalin lead them against the orcs?’

King Thorin followed, sitting down next to him, his hand almost touching Bilbo’s on the table. ‘He could. But I couldn’t call myself a leader and a king, if I sent warriors off to fight a battle, and hid behind thick walls until they came back.’

Bilbo looked up at him. ‘Are you coming back?’

The muscles around the King’s mouth twitched. ‘Do you want me to? Frodo would be released from his promise if I were to be pierced by an orc’s blade. And then you could go back to Bag End and your beloved garden.’

Bilbo rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help a small smile breaking through. ‘Don’t be silly. Of course I don’t want you to be killed by an orc.’

‘That’s probably the highest compliment you’ve ever paid me.’ The King was smiling warmly now. ‘I think I shall have that engraved on a medal. It will say: King Thorin of Erebor, gentlehobbits don’t want him to die violently.’

Bilbo chuckled. ‘ _One_ gentlehobbit. I can’t speak for all of us.’ They shared a quiet laugh until Bilbo sobered again.

‘We shouldn’t be laughing.’ He looked down. ‘Not when you’re leaving. Not when you’re going off to fight.’

‘Are you worried for me, Master Baggins?’ King Thorin murmured as he brushed his hand back and forth on the table, each pass bringing it closer and closer to Bilbo’s smaller one.

‘Do I need to be worried?’ Bilbo whispered, his eyes following the movements of that broad hand.

‘I don’t think so.’ The hand stopped. ‘It’s a small group of starved orcs hiding out for winter. And I have a group of trained dwarves behind me. I’m sure we’ll succeed.’

‘But not certain?’ Bilbo could hear the armour clinking against the wooden back of the chair. It made King Thorin move differently, made him seem larger and slower. A proper target.

‘Nothing’s certain in life.’

‘Except death.’ There was a small irregularity in the surface of the table, and Bilbo couldn’t stop scratching at it.

‘Master Baggins?’ The King’s voice was soft, so soft that it made Bilbo raise his head to look into that serious face.

‘I will do everything in my power to come back to– To come back.’ The King held eye contact, then quickly licked his lips and looked away.

‘I wish I could fight,’ Bilbo suddenly said. ‘Anything must be better than having to sit here, listening for signs of intruders, and waiting for any news about the ones fighting to protect you.’

‘I’m glad you can’t fight.’ The King murmured. ‘But maybe you _should_ learn to defend yourself, which reminds me…’ He stood up and walked back to the desk.

Bilbo must have been distracted by the presence of the King in his rooms earlier, for how could he otherwise have the missed that good-sized brown parcel placed on the edge of the desk.

King Thorin brought it back to the table and laid it down in front of Bilbo. ‘For you.’

Bilbo’s mouth fell slightly open. ‘Oh…Oh, thank you.’ He unwound the string and parted the brown cloth, revealing what seemed to be a silvery, knitted shirt.

He took removed it from its covering and spread it out in front of him on the table. It soon became apparent that it wasn’t knitting, but hard rings of what appeared to be silver woven tightly together to create impenetrable armour. It looked to be Bilbo’s size.

He held it up and could see tiny white gems shining among the metal, catching the light merrily.

‘It’s beautiful.’ He breathed. Even a hobbit would notice the other-worldly shine of the metal and the impeccable craft that had gone into making the entire shirt.

‘It’s not only beautiful, but incredibly useful.’ King Thorin said. ‘Put it on and it will protect you against most attacks. No sword or arrow will pierce this shirt.’

‘And you want me to have it?’ Bilbo tore his eyes away from the glimmering metal to look at the King.

‘Yes,’ King Thorin nodded seriously. ‘Would you- Would you please wear it? Always? Not just when we’re threatened by orcs. Not just when you’re here in Erebor. But always. Please?’

Bilbo draped the shirt over his hand, feeling its surprisingly light weight. ‘I don’t think I’ll have much use for it back in the Shire. I don’t think I’ll need such fine protection against tripping over rakes in my garden or being butted by an ill-tempered goat.’ He looked up, smiling but it fell from his face when he saw how sombre the King still looked. ‘But I will wear it.’

‘Good,’ King Thorin gave a relieved sigh. ‘Put it on immediately after I leave.’

Bilbo placed the shirt gently back on the table, listening to the tinkling sounds as the metal circles hit the wood.

He looked out the window, taking note of the darkening sky. ‘Will you attack after dark?’

‘Yes.’ King Thorin went back to brushing his hand back and forth on the table, settling into his seat.

Bilbo thought of Dwalin and his men waiting for their king, shuffling in their heavy armour, their arms getting tired from carrying large weapons.

But he wouldn’t be the one to remind the King of his duties, to give him an excuse to leave. He sat back in his chair and gave his companion furtive glances, trying to memorise that handsome face, the grey in his hair and the strength of his arms. Bilbo would need that memory if… If King Thorin didn’t return.

‘Are you staying here tonight? Alone?’ The King looked up at Bilbo.

‘No, Frodo and I are going to stay in Fíli and Kíli’s chambers.’

‘Good. That’s good. They’ll protect you if…’ He trailed off.

It had now become so dark that Bilbo felt the need to bring some more light into the room. He picked up a candle from the table, lit it in the fireplace and brought it around the room, lighting lamps on sideboards and tables.

He could hear the armour clanking as King Thorin turned in his seat to follow his slow movements throughout the room.

‘I have to go.’

Bilbo turned to face him, the candle still in his hand. ‘Yes.’

The King stood up and walked over towards him. ‘Wear your armour.’

‘Yes.’

‘And I _will_ be back before morning.’

‘Yes.’

The King glanced down at the floor. ‘You’re dripping wax on the rug.’

‘Yes- Oh, am I? Bilbo looked down and quickly placed the candle on a nearby shelf to prevent further damage.

‘Sorry.’ He muttered.

‘Don’t be.’ King Thorin was close to him now. ‘Shall we shake hands before I go?’

Bilbo looked up into those blue eyes. He couldn’t say anything so he raised his right hand and offered it to the dwarf.

The corners of King Thorin’s mouth lifted slightly as he slowly let his hand slide into a close fit with Bilbo’s. The rough, warm texture of the skin set small shocks up Bilbo’s arm. They seemed to settle in his chest, heating him from within. The King didn’t squeeze his hand, nor did he shake it. He just held it for a long while.

As he finally let go, he murmured, ‘I will see you again, Bilbo Baggins.’

What could Bilbo say but, ‘Yes.’

He could hear the rattle of metal as King Thorin left him, leaving the door open behind him. Bilbo could feel a cold draught coming from the stony hallway, and the candles flickered and smoked, casting shadows in the silent room.

Bilbo couldn’t stay here any longer. He gathered his ringed shirt and his book and made to leave. He paused before going out the door. He would need a candle for these dark passageways.

As he went to the desk to collect the large candle there, his eye was caught by a piece of parchment lying on top of the pile. That was neither his nor Frodo’s flowing, rounded handwriting. It was a good deal more spiky and angular, and Bilbo recognized it from the letter he had read from King Thorin to Fortinbras the Thain.

The King must have been writing this while waiting for Bilbo to return. The page had several spots of ink splattered across it. King Thorin must have paused a lot while writing this. He must have sat in thought with the quill poised above the parchment, not noticing the dripping ink.

He let the book and the shirt drop to the floor as he sat down to read what was written.

 

_Master Baggins,_

_I have been waiting for your return but am unable to wait any longer. And so this letter will serve as a poor substitute for a meeting between us._

_My patrol is waiting for me as I write this, and I will be leaving soon. I do not know when I will return._

_Please accept this present as a sign that you and yours are under the protection of Erebor and its king. It has long been among the treasures of the line of Durin, and I hope it will suit you._

_I wish_

 

And there the letter ended.

Bilbo traced a finger over the writing as he thought. What if this will be last thing I have of him? What if these polite words will be the only evidence of my friendship with King Thorin of Erebor?

He carefully folded the parchment twice and stuck it between the pages of his book.

Bilbo bundled up his armoured shirt in its packaging, picked up the candle and the book, and quickly made his way to the great hall to meet up with the three lads.

 

X—X

 

Lady Dís was waiting for them when Bilbo and the boys arrived at their chambers. She would spend the night with her sons, waiting for news of her brother and his patrol.

They all gathered in front of the fire place. The Lady offered Bilbo a small drink of some strong liquor, but he politely declined. He needed to stay alert this night while the group kept a vigil together.

He let the package on his lap slide down, and the metal clinked as it hit the stone floor.

‘Are you hoarding jewellery, Bilbo?’ Kíli grinned at him.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Frodo said, ‘Uncle Bilbo never wears trinkets.’

‘Maybe he’s stolen it from the treasury, thinking he’ll use it to buy his way out when the orcs come for us all.’ Fíli shared a smile with his brother.

‘Behave yourselves, boys.’ Lady Dís sat forward in her chair. ‘What have you got there, Master Baggins?’

‘Well, I…’ Bilbo couldn’t find the words to describe the gift so he merely pushed the cloth aside, revealing the shiny metal to the dwarves.

‘Mithril…’ Fíli whispered.

‘Look at how many rings it’s made off, and how closely they are woven together,’ Kíli added, ‘Not even the smallest arrowhead would pierce this armour.’

Bilbo could feel his cheeks warm at their obvious admiration for the object. It must be something quite special.

‘I haven’t seen that for years,’ The Lady said, as she held out her hands to receive it from Bilbo. He handed it over. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘King Thorin--,’ Bilbo cleared his throat. ‘His Majesty gave it to me.’

‘Did he?’ She said quietly, as she brushed her fingers over a row of gemstones.

Lady Dís gave him a strange look as she handed the shirt back to him. ‘You better put it on then. I’m sure that was my brother’s wish.’

Bilbo stood up and removed his jacket and waistcoat. It still surprised him how light the thing was, as he pulled it over his shirt, adjusting it slightly to lie flat over his arms. 

‘It fits you perfectly, Uncle Bilbo.’ Frodo stood up and inspected the ends of the sleeves.

‘Very rare thing, Mithril.’ Lady Dís said. ‘Can only be found in the mines of Khazad-dûm.’

‘Mum only has a small dagger with a Mithril handle.’ Kíli said. ‘She’s promised Fíli can have it when he becomes king.’

‘Oh, I didn’t know…’ Bilbo felt like taking the shirt off, the value of it suddenly weighing down on his shoulders.

Their chat was interrupted by a loud sound from outside the door. The company froze. 

Bilbo noticed how Fíli’s right hand went to the dagger by his side, while Lady Dís brushed past the two hobbits to take a longsword from a holder on the wall.

Kíli stood up as well, silently standing in front of Bilbo and Frodo and moving them back towards a curtain in the corner of the room.

They could hear shuffling coming from the hall outside.

Kíli kept his eyes on the door, but whispered to the hobbits over his shoulder. ‘There’s a way out. Behind that,’ He gestured to the curtain. ‘It will take you to a hidden path down to the kitchens. From there you can get out of the mountain.’

Frodo’s eyes widened. ‘Why are you telling us this?’

Kíli didn’t answer. ‘Have you got your dagger, Frodo?’

‘Yes, but--,’

‘Good. Stay behind Bilbo and his armour. Only use your weapon as a last resort.’

Bilbo could feel his hands starting to shake, and his eyes travelled back to the chair in which he had been sitting. His book with the letter tucked inside had been left there. Could he retrieve it before they had to…

‘Kíli!’ Lady Dís whispered close by. ‘Don’t scare the hobbits. We don’t yet know what’s going on outside.’

‘It’s best to be prepared.’ Fíli said next to her.

Bilbo drew a deep breath. ‘Why don’t we all go out the hidden door?’

‘The Line of Durin doesn’t run away.’ Kíli muttered.

‘And you think a Baggins does?’ Bilbo huffed, though he couldn’t exactly deny it. He had been running away from a lot in his life.

There was a brief knock at the door.

The group seemed to jump slightly as one before glancing nervously at each other.

‘Well,’ Lady Dís finally said. ‘I don’t think an invading horde of orcs would knock politely before an attack.’

She went slowly to the door, still holding her sword firmly in one hand. Fíli and Kíli stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the hobbits, their hands on their daggers.

Bilbo held his breath as the Lady gradually opened the door, and felt his entire body sag with relief as he saw the red hair of the small dwarf standing outside.

‘Master Ori!’ Lady Dís let her sword fall down to her side.

‘My Lady.’ Ori made a short, nervous bow. ‘May I come in?’

‘Yes, of course.’ She stood aside, letting the librarian enter the room.

Bilbo pressed himself out between Fíli and Kíli to greet his friend. ‘Ori, what are you doing here?’ His gaze dropped to Ori’s hands. He was holding at large leather bound book with a tear going down the spine. It looked fresh, and Ori’s right hand kept going over it, as if trying to repair it with touch alone.

‘Well, you see--,’ His voice shook a bit, as he glanced at the royal dwarves gathering around him. ‘It was really Mr. Dwalin’s idea, and I said it would be silly, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and then he brushed my cheek like that, and I really, really...’ Ori trailed off, almost dropping the book before holding it tighter once again in his arms.

‘Won’t you sit down, Master Ori?’ Lady Dís smiled gently at him and led him to a soft chair by the fire. Bilbo sat down next to him after he had redressed in his waistcoat and jacket. Soon they were all gathered again, though the weapons were within easier reach this time.

‘What did Master Dwalin say?’ Bilbo asked.

‘That he wanted me to be safe. That he wanted me to go to the princes. That they would protect me if…if he doesn’t come back.’ He swallowed loudly and clenched his fingers around his book.

‘Let me take that.’ Bilbo murmured as he lifted the tome from Ori’s tight grip.

‘You’re welcome to stay, Master Ori.’ Fíli smiled at the small librarian.

‘Yes, we have enough food, warmth, and company to go around.’ Kíli nodded beside his brother.

Frodo stood up. ‘Let me get you something to eat and drink, Master Ori.’ He clapped his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and went to the table laden with food. Fíli and Kíli followed him.

Bilbo noticed that Ori’s hands were still trembling, now that he had nothing with which to occupy them. He glanced between the fresh tear in the book and Ori’s nervous movements, and thought that he could guess where that loud sound had come from earlier. Heavy leather hitting stone did create something of a bang.

He looked up into the small dwarf’s eyes. ‘You’re safe, Master Ori. It’s alright now.’

‘But it isn’t, is it?’ He held eye contact. ‘He’s out there now, and-- And I knew I would have to deal with this, when I started courting a captain of the guard. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. I thought we would be safe and together all through winter.’ He clasped his hands together, trying to keep them calm.

Bilbo nodded slowly. ‘Yes. I know.’

‘He’ll come back to you, Master Ori. You can depend on Dwalin. He has never let anyone down in his life.’ Lady Dís smiled at the librarian as she stood up and went to join Frodo and her sons by the table.

‘And Lady Dís has known your Master Dwalin longer than any of us,’ Bilbo said, trying to fake confidence for Ori’s sake. ‘Even though I have only known him a little while, I am fully convinced Master Dwalin would defy Eru himself just to return to you.’

Ori wiped his eyes. ‘Thank you.’ He said with a thick voice.

Bilbo turned the book over in his hands. It had no title or any other marks to distinguish it.

‘What is this that you’ve brought with you?’

‘Oh,’ Ori sniffed slightly, though Bilbo pretended not to have heard. ‘Do you remember me telling you that we have very little information about hobbits in the library of Erebor?’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, that’s our only volume on the subject. It was written by a travelling tradesman, and is considered to be a comprehensive study of the hobbit race.’

‘Really?’ Bilbo was curious to know how these dwarves described the Shire and its inhabitants.

‘Yes, and I was wondering if you would read it and tell me if anything’s incorrect.’ Ori paused. ‘It would give us something to do this night while…while we wait.’

‘Of course, Master Ori.’ He smiled. ‘I’d be glad to.’ 

‘Thank you. And just Ori, please.’ The young dwarf gave him a shy smile, though Bilbo could still see tracks of tears down his cheeks.

He carefully opened the volume, mindful of not disturbing the tear along the spine anymore than he had to, and started reading from the first page.

Lady Dís, Fíli, Kíli, and Frodo rejoined them by the fire, carrying plates of food and drinks. Bilbo glanced up to see Ori gratefully accepting a small drink of that strong liquor from the Lady. Frodo had sat on the floor between his two seated friends, laughingly fending off slices of ham being placed on his head by the lads. 

Ori relaxed into his chair, smiling at the warm company surrounding him. ‘Though there are some strange facts in that book,’ he said, ‘For example, it says that hobbits don’t get children, you know, the usual way.’ Bilbo smiled at seeing the librarian’s ears reddening slightly.

‘Really?’ Fíli said, chewing on a piece of ham he had taken from behind Frodo’s ear.

‘Yes,’ Ori nodded. ‘Apparently, they cut the hair off their feet and plant it in fertile soil. And within a year: Hobbit babies, ready to harvest!’

‘Yeah, I’ve heard that as well.’ Kíli said seriously while gesturing with a chicken drumstick.

‘Nonsense!’ Frodo laughed as he turned to look up at his friends. ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

‘If it says so in a book, Frodo,’ Kíli grinned, ‘Then it must be true.’

‘You must forgive my sons, Frodo.’ Lady Dís smiled, ‘But they have always been complete idiots.’

‘Hey!’ Fíli said while Kíli placed his hand on his chest, soothing an imaginary injury. Frodo and Ori giggled while Bilbo chuckled quietly to himself.

‘Well,’ Bilbo said, ‘That’s the first misapprehension that needs to be corrected. Where does it say that thing about planting hobbit children, Ori?’

‘Under “Mating Rituals and Fertility”.’

‘I don’t like that book,’ Frodo said sourly. ‘It makes us hobbits sound like strange, mythical beasts.’

‘Well, before I met the two of you, I did rather think a hobbit would be half a rabbit, half something else.’ Kíli said while Fíli nodded next to him.

‘As I said,’ Lady Dís said drily, ‘Idiots.’

A short laugh moved about the group but died down again. They sat quietly, listening to the wind howling outside and the hiss of the fireplace. Once in a while, the silence would be broken by Bilbo turning a heavy page or the sound of a cup being placed on a table.

‘Do you think they’ll have reached the cave by now?’ Ori whispered into the dark, silent room.

‘Probably.’ Fíli murmured.

Bilbo stopped reading and thought about King Thorin’s sword and how it had clanked against his heavy armour. Both parts had looked sturdy and well-made, and the King wore them with confidence, as if he was used to them. Would they protect him or slow him down in battle?

‘It seems very cold tonight,’ Frodo drew his knees up to his chest, hugging his legs with his arms.

‘That’s the sound of the wind tricking you.’ Lady Dís said as she stared into the flames.

A chair creaked as someone put down a used plate on a table.

‘I knitted Mr. Dwalin a thick scarf to wear above his armour.’ Ori whispered. ‘I didn’t even check to see if he had it on when I said goodbye to him. What if he’s forgotten it?’

‘I’m sure he didn’t, Ori.’ Bilbo leaned forward and put his hand on the dwarf’s knee, squeezing slightly.

Silence surrounded them. It was as if the mountain itself held its breath while it awaited its fate.

‘How long until morning?’ Kíli asked.

‘It’ll be hours yet.’ Lady Dís said. ‘I’d better put another log on the fire.’

But she didn’t move. None of them did. They just sat quietly, listening for unfamiliar noises, and thinking about the absent ones out there in the darkness.


	18. Chapter 18

Bilbo woke to the sound of a couple of voices murmuring near the door.

He squinted against the early morning light coming from the window as he looked around at his companions. Lady Dís was still sitting upright in her chair, her head tilted slightly backwards as she slept soundly. Her sons had an altogether more slumped appearance, sleeping haphazardly against armrests, their legs splayed out in front of them. Frodo was still on the floor, snoring slightly as he leant against Kíli’s right leg.

But where was Ori?

Bilbo sat up straighter in his chair. His fingers were still barely gripping that silly book on hobbits, and he placed it on a table as he stood up and stretched slightly, wincing as he felt a slight ache in the small of his back. He was definitely getting too old to spend a whole night sleeping upright in a chair.

His attention returned to those voices, and he looked over to see Ori speaking to someone through the open door.

As he moved towards the young dwarf, his heart sped up as he saw who was outside in the hallway. It was Dwalin, and Ori was giving him a thorough lecture.

‘-- And I can’t believe you left it behind. Do you have any idea how cold it can get?’

Dwalin looked down at the floor, but Bilbo thought he could spy a small smile on the warrior’s face.

‘I do.’ The large dwarf looked back up into his loved one’s face. ‘Remember, I just spent an entire night outside.’

Ori sighed, flapping his hands helplessly. ‘Then why didn’t you bring your scarf?’

Dwalin stepped closer to the librarian, folding his hands around Ori’s waist.

‘I didn’t want to get orc blood on it.’ He murmured as he lowered his head, his lips just hovering over the other’s mouth.

Bilbo could hear a small, relieved giggle escaping Ori before he surged up to claim his lover in a deep kiss. Dwalin staggered back a step at the sheer force of the action but held the smaller dwarf tighter, almost raising his body off the ground.

The hobbit turned slightly away, giving the two their privacy. Some small, mean part of Bilbo envied them their happiness. Ori was able to share his worries about his loved one with others and joyfully, openly celebrate when he returned. And Dwalin could put his hands around his librarian, kissing him whole-heartedly without worrying about who saw them.

Bilbo had to keep all that inside: All his fears, his wants, his desires. They had to be kept in a tight ball behind his ribs, pressing on his chest. Sometimes it made it difficult to breathe and occasionally the ball rolled downwards, making him nauseous.

But right now he couldn’t keep it closed tight enough, the cracks in the ball letting his emotions stream out into the world. He had to know. He had to ask.

‘Master Dwalin?’ Bilbo bounced slightly, his weight rolling from his toes to his heels.

The large dwarf disentangled himself slightly from Ori, though his strong hands were still grabbing his loved one’s body.

‘Yes?’ He said curtly, his gaze sweeping Bilbo’s body.

‘Is… Is everyone back?’

‘Yes.’ Dwalin’s eyes moved back to Ori’s face, softening as he studied it closely.

Bilbo swallowed hard. ‘And the King?’

Dwalin picked up one of Ori’s smaller hands, turning it gently in his grip, his fingers caressing the palm. 

‘Alive.’ He said.

Ori snatched his hand back, as he took one step away from the warrior. ‘Don’t be rude. Tell Master Baggins what happened.’ He said as he crossed his arms.

Dwalin sighed. ‘King Thorin got a blow to the head, but he’s awake and talking. He refused a trip to the apothecary and has instead gone back to his chambers.’

He grabbed Ori’s hand again, pulling him close. ‘Satisfied?’ He whispered into the other’s ear, his lips brushing over the sensitive shell.

Bilbo’s thoughts reeled. A blow to the head? His mind quickly supplied the memory of Frodo lying unconscious, blood seeping through the bandage on his forehead. And the King was all alone?

He hurried to the couple and squeezed past Dwalin through the open doorway. He stopped in the middle of the hall, floundering as he looked back and forth in the deserted space.

‘Where are the King’s rooms?’ He squared his shoulders and set his jaw as he addressed Dwalin.

The large dwarf gazed quietly at the small hobbit before making up his mind.

‘Turn left, and then it’s the second door on your right.’ He said shortly.

As near as that? Of course, Bilbo had spent the night in the princes’ chambers but he didn’t imagine that he was this close to King Thorin’s personal chambers.

He nodded gratefully and moved quickly down the hall until he arrived at the appointed door.

Bilbo didn’t know what he had expected: A solid gold door, a crown above the door frame, or maybe a door handle made of emeralds; something to match the general opulence favoured by these dwarves.

But the door was a simple brown, no bigger or more spectacular than the other ones in this part of the mountain.

Bilbo reigned in his flailing emotions, pushing down on that part of him that wanted to storm into the room, take King Thorin’s head between his hands and stare into those blue eyes, checking for a present and alert mind.

He knocked.

Silence. Bilbo could feel the palms of his hands getting damp.

He knocked again.

The sound of knuckle on wood seemed to vibrate through the empty hallway. But the door still remained closed.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his thumping heart as he pushed down on the door handle. The door opened easily, and he slipped quickly inside before shutting it behind him.

The room was large, of course, but sparsely furnished. The furniture was well-made but utilitarian, and there was very little evidence of the personality of the dwarf occupying this place, let alone that it was the private sphere of a dwarven king.

There was no fire lit, and Bilbo swore that he could see his breath in front of his face. He buttoned his jacket and rubbed his hands together as he moved through the living room. There were four other rooms connected to this one, but he didn’t know which door to try first.

The decision was taken out of his hands when he heard a creaking sound behind him, and made a sharp turn to see a shirtless King Thorin leaving what looked to be a bathroom, carrying a bowl and a cloth.

Bilbo breathed in deeply at seeing him like that. Once you removed the leather vambraces, the long surcoat, and the armour, King Thorin no longer seemed that imposing. Of course, his shoulders were still wide, his chest still broad, and his arms were strong and sturdy. But seeing that vulnerable skin, paler on his chest than on his hands and littered with old scars, made Bilbo feel warm inside. It wasn’t just a simple lust for the King’s impressive body, but a deep-felt wish to take care of him, to make certain that he would never receive another scar. King Thorin still looked strong but also heartbreakingly mortal.

‘It’s still very early.’ A deep voice rumbled, making Bilbo look up at King Thorin’s face. ‘You should be in bed, Master Baggins.’

It was only now that Bilbo noticed the deep gash on the side of the King’s head. Blood had streamed down his right cheek, matting most of his braid and some of his hair on that side. The cut itself looked angry and deep.

‘Let me…’ Bilbo moved closer as if in a fog. ‘Let me clean that for you.’

King Thorin sank down into a chair. ‘Very well.’

He handed over the bowl of soapy water and the cloth to Bilbo and let his head rest against the back of the chair. His eyes closed as he breathed out a long, deep sigh.

Now that Bilbo was closer, he could see the grime on the King’s hands, he could smell the sweat and dirt coming off his body, and he noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes.

Bilbo dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out slowly, listening to the trickle of water in the silent room.

As he carefully started wiping off the dried blood on the King’s cheeks, the dwarf opened his eyes and stared at Bilbo’s concentrated face. 

‘Have you done this before?’ He murmured.

‘Once or twice.’ Bilbo returned the cloth to the bowl, wringing it out and watching how the water turned faintly pink. ‘Frodo always seemed to come home with scrapes and bruises when he was younger. One time he fell on a nail sticking out of a piece of wood when he was playing near the carpenter’s. That needed careful cleaning and bandaging, though he still has a silvery scar on his thigh today.’

He brushed some of the dark hair out of the way and started cleaning the wound itself. ‘But you’re a much better patient. Less squirmy.’ He tried smiling at the King but the other’s eyes were averted, just staring out into space in front of him.

Bilbo wrung out the cloth again. 

‘He came from above me’ King Thorin spoke quietly. ‘I had just dealt with one of them, and before I could turn around I felt something heavy hit my back and I fell down, my head bashing against a rock. I could smell the orc.’ He wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘But before I could turn over, one of the younger guards had dispatched the beast with a clean swipe of a sword through its throat.’

Bilbo had cleaned the wound completely now. It had begun scabbing over, but still bled lazily no matter how many times he wiped the cloth over it.

‘You should do something for that guard as a thank you,’ He said as he fished out his handkerchief from his pocket, holding it against the King’s temple.

‘I don’t even know her name.’ The King finally looked back at Bilbo, noticing what he was doing. ‘Your handkerchief…You shouldn’t.’

‘No matter. I have others.’ Bilbo said as he dabbed the wound. ‘Hold this.’ He grabbed King Thorin’s hand, gently pulling it upwards and placed it against the handkerchief. 

The King did as he was told, his eyes following Bilbo as he went back to the bowl. ‘I can ask Dwalin.’

‘Dwalin?’ Bilbo wrung out the cloth again, as he studied the King’s matted hair.

‘For her name.’ The King lowered the handkerchief, looking at the red dots on the white linen.

‘Yes.’ Bilbo said as he fingered the bloodied braid. ‘I think I will need to unravel this to clean it.’

King Thorin looked into his eyes and gave a single nod. ‘Do it.’

Bilbo fumbled a bit as he unclasped the metal bead holding the hairs together. Without thinking about it, he dropped the small thing in his right jacket pocket for safe-keeping. He gently gripped the braid close to the warm scalp, holding it between his thumb and his index finger as he massaged down the length of it.

This close to the dwarf, Bilbo could feel the warmth coming off him like waves into the cold room. The skin on his neck prickled as he felt King Thorin’s moist breath touching him there.

He pressed the wet cloth around the braid, careful not to pull too hard on it, squeezing it to allow the soapy water to soak the bloodied hair. Some of the water trickled down the King’s bare chest, soaking into his trousers.

‘Sorry.’ Bilbo whispered, his mouth close to the King’s ear.

‘No matter.’ King Thorin murmured, turning his head to look at Bilbo.

He put the cloth back in the bowl and returned his attention to the braid, working his fingers between the woven locks, separating them the best he could without a brush or a comb.

When the braid was finally clean, he didn’t let it go. He kept brushing the wet and flattened hair until it lay perfectly straight along the cheek and throat of King Thorin. Drops kept falling down from the end of the strand and ran slowly down the broad chest, circling past a peaked nipple. They were suddenly disturbed in their path as the King gave a deep shiver.

Bilbo stood back. ‘Are you cold? Do you want me to light the fire?’

‘No.’ King Thorin grabbed Bilbo’s hand as he made to move away. ‘Please stay with me.’

Bilbo stood indecisively next to the chair with no job to perform and no words to say.

The King let his eyes fall shut as his head leant back in the chair. He was still holding Bilbo’s hand.

‘You should get some sleep.’ Bilbo said.

‘In a little while.’

Bilbo bent a little to check on the wound. It had completely stopped bleeding now. His eyes travelled from the temple over the tranquil face, following the line of the eyebrows to that noble nose and ending on the relaxed mouth framed by the dark beard.

The lips seemed softer now than they ever had before. No longer firmly set in seemingly constant disapproval of everyone and everything around him, they were slightly opened and shiny as if King Thorin had been licking them quite recently.

Bilbo glanced back at the angry wound on the King’s temple. He might have died. He might have met his end in some dank cave, buried beneath the corpse of an orc. And Bilbo would never have known, would never have tried…

King Thorin’s eyes flew open when Bilbo first pressed his lips to his in a hesitant kiss. The hobbit quickly squeezed his own eyes shut, focusing on the sensations surrounding him. He was bent awkwardly over the chair, feeling that twinge from earlier in the small of his back. The stale smell of sweat was still clinging to the dwarf’s body, and his large nose was bumping against Bilbo’s cheek, but the lips… The lips were open and soft against Bilbo’s mouth, warming it against the cold. He moved his lips experimentally, looking for a response, for some evidence that King Thorin was willing to play along with his madness. 

Because he felt mad right now. And nothing else mattered in the world but the feel of King Thorin so close to him. He put one hand on the King’s chest, supporting his weight as he fell deeper into the kiss.

Bilbo licked into his mouth, just feeling the touch of something silky-smooth greeting his tongue when his attention was torn away from that heat by a sudden pain in his hand. He broke the kiss with a gasp and looked down.

King Thorin was still holding Bilbo’s hand and was now gripping it tightly, his eyes wide as he gazed at Bilbo’s face.

The coldness of the room suddenly washed over Bilbo as his heart seemed to fall down into his stomach. He wrenched his hand away from the King, holding it close to his body like an animal with a hurt paw.

‘I’m sorry.’ Bilbo whispered to the stunned King. 

King Thorin raised his hand to run his fingers over his lips, his mouth open and glistening as he stared up at the hobbit.

Bilbo could feel his cheeks heating at what he had done, at what he had forced on the unsuspecting King.

He closed his eyes against the sight of his horrendous mistake. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

And he turned around and left.

The King seemed to yell something after him, but Bilbo wasn’t going to turn back just to feel the full force of King Thorin’s anger.

He kept walking and walking through deserted hallways until he had to stop, his lungs burning in his chest. Bilbo leant against a cold wall, his hand over his eyes as he breathed shallowly and quickly.

As it often did in moments of distress, his right hand went into his jacket pocket, expecting to find that long-gone handkerchief. But instead of something soft and pliable, his fingers grasped a small, hard thing in the bottom of his pocket.

He lifted his clenched hand in front of his face and opened it. It was King Thorin’s bead; the one Bilbo had taken from his braid.

Bilbo rolled the small metal thing between two fingers. A sudden impulse gripped him to go outside and hurl this aching reminder of this horrible morning down the side of the mountain with all his might.

But there was something in the cold glint of the metal that reminded Bilbo of his Mithril shirt, and he closed his hand tight around the bead, bending his head over it.

Oh, sweet Yavanna, he thought. Let the snow melt. Let the passage clear. Let winter pass.

Please let me escape from this mountain.


	19. Chapter 19

In celebration of King Thorin’s great victory against the Orc Horde of Tanner’s Cave (as historians would later come to name it), every dwarven family of Erebor, from the nobility right down to the lowest servant, was to receive a small barrel of ale to do with what they wanted.

Bilbo had been invited by Bofur to share his and Bombur’s drink, as neither the latter’s small children nor his wife drank ale, though for two very different reasons.

‘Are ye knocked up again?!’ Bofur’s eyes bulged out of his head as he gave a significant glance to the brood of dwarflings surrounding the wedded couple.

‘He means “Congratulations”.’ Bilbo said as he raised his cup in a mute salute to the obvious love between the two, between Bombur and…

Actually, Bilbo still hadn’t gotten her name. The cook had only referred to his wife as ‘darling’, ‘sweetheart’, and something in Khuzdul which sounded like a curse, but it was said while kissing her cheek for the umpteenth time that evening.

Bombur caressed his wife’s hand as he said, ‘Yes, we’re very happy.’ He didn’t seem to be able to stop himself smiling, his round cheeks bulging even more than usual.

Bilbo’s mood would have usually lightened at seeing these excessive expressions of love. Eru knows that hobbits are particularly fond of family and friends and never shy away from open displays of affection.

But tonight, after toast and toast to the great King Thorin, protector of Erebor, Bilbo had turned bitter and quiet. His shoulders slumped over the table, and his eyes were more focused on the drink in front of him than on the merry company surrounding him.

He hadn’t seen the King since that horribly stupid kiss. There had been no invitations to meetings between Frodo and his intended, and there had been no chance encounters in the great hall, in the library or in the numerous hallways Bilbo restlessly travelled every day.

By use of careful subterfuge, he had found out through Balin that the King’s wound was healing properly, and that he showed no ill consequences from the battle.

Bilbo had smothered a sigh when he had heard that piece of news, concealing his relieved facial expression from the chief advisor with a well-placed sip from his tea.

But King Thorin had, nevertheless, become completely absent from Bilbo and Frodo’s lives. The younger hobbit seemed a bit puzzled by this but didn’t spend a long time pondering this change. Frodo was happy as long as he got to spend time with Fíli and Kíli. And those two still visited regularly, inviting Frodo out on adventures.

But Bilbo felt guilty. He _knew_ that the timing of King Thorin’s disappearance was not a coincidence. The King obviously didn’t want to spend any more time with the odd chaperone, patently afraid that he would be molested once more by some desperate hobbit bachelor. 

After Bombur’s wife (Bilbo really should make an effort to learn her name) had herded their offspring out of the room, the two dwarves and Bilbo lit their pipes and shared a smoke in silence for a while.

As if he had read Bilbo’s earlier thoughts, Bombur cleared his throat and said. ‘Have you two heard what they’re saying about the King?’

Bilbo bit down hard on the stem of his pipe.

‘No,’ Bofur said. ‘Very little o’ the court gossip reaches us down in the lower mines.’

‘Well, apparently,’ Bombur lowered his voice, ‘that knock on his head must have done some damage after all.’

Bilbo was sure there were teeth marks on the wood of his pipe by now.

‘What d’ye mean?’ Bofur said as he blew a slow cloud of smoke.

‘I mean,’ Bombur said, ‘He hasn’t been seen at all with his intended since coming back from that cave. People are starting to talk.’

‘People do little else.’ Bofur mumbled around his pipe.

Bombur hummed at seeing his brother’s lack of interest in this particular piece of juicy gossip. He turned to Bilbo.

‘But you must know something about this, Master Baggins. Is there a tiff between the two or have the lovebirds just made their courtship more… private?’ Bombur raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

The smoke from this dwarven weed wasn’t agreeing with Bilbo. He suddenly felt sick and swallowed heavily against something rising in his throat. 

‘Of course not.’ He put his pipe down on the table. ‘What kind of chaperone do you take me for that I would allow something like that to happen? Neither Frodo nor I have seen his Majesty for some time now.’ Bilbo gave a firm nod.

‘Strange…’ Bombur puffed thoughtfully on his pipe.

‘Perhaps the King is still recoverin’ from the blow to his head?’ Bofur said.

‘But he attends council meetings, writes letters, and sends out ravens. Ori, the librarian, is worried that Erebor’s supply of parchment will run out before winter is over.’

Bilbo frowned as he looked down at the table. He had often heard the King complain about the dreaded meetings in the council and the boring work they entailed. But he was not surprised that King Thorin would now prefer that to the company of the two hobbits.

 

X—X

 

That was the first odd rumour Bilbo heard about the King. The second came to him by chance as he made an unscheduled return to his rooms, as Ori had been unable to make time to talk over that book about hobbits. When Bilbo entered his chambers, he overheard two chambermaids chatting in Frodo’s bedroom.

‘Not the whole night, surely?’ One of them had a sweet, girlish voice. Bilbo could hear the rumblings of sheets being thrown about as she spoke.

‘There was light coming from under the door the whole night long. I have that from one of the servants working in the royal wing.’ The other had a raspier voice. 

Bilbo tiptoed nearer to the slightly opened bedroom door.

‘And,’ the raspy dwarrowdam said, ‘His bed hadn’t been slept in when the maid came in the morning.’

The other one giggled. ‘You don’t suppose he spent the night here with his hobbit-fancy?’

The raspy one sighed. ‘That’s _fiancé_. Honestly, you can’t expect to serve a better class of dwarf if you don’t learn to talk proper.’

‘Oh, never mind that. Do you think the King stayed here that night?’

‘Hardly. It’s said they’ve had a quarrel. And anyway, if the King wanted to have some fun with his hobbit before they were wed, I don’t think he’d have to hide it. He ought to know how much the whole of Erebor would welcome that development. We’ve been waiting long enough for some kind of official announcement.’

‘They say that at Lady Dís’s wedding all of Erebor was given a live calf, a bushel of wheat, and a large barrel of wine _each_ to celebrate her marriage. Imagine what they’ll give us when the King himself marries.’

‘Once that deal with the Shire comes through,’ the raspy one said, ‘we’ll be eating like that every day for the rest of our lives.’

‘I heard that we have to wait until September before there’s a royal wedding.’ The girlish one sighed.

The raspy one scoffed. ‘That’ll teach the King not to choose such a young mate. He’s probably so desperate for the wedding night, he’s rutting against the furniture just to release the pressure.’ She cackled loudly.

‘Don’t!’ The other one said, and Bilbo agreed with that sentiment completely.

‘Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’

‘Still,’ the girlish one said. ‘I don’t think you should talk that way about the King.’

‘He’s still a dwarf, isn’t he? Don’t tell me _the crown jewels_ have withered from lack of use, not when there are delicious, young hobbits around.’

‘I’m not talking about this anymore.’ The other one said firmly, the sound of her voice moving closer to the door.

Bilbo sprang quickly away on nimble feet and hid behind the door to his own bedroom, watching silently as the two maids went out into the hallway.

He wandered around the living room, forgetting what he had come back for, his thoughts swirling around what he had heard. 

Ignoring those filthy musings on King Thorin’s nether regions, his mind went back to that earlier bit of gossip about the King staying up all night in his rooms.

Could Bofur be right? Was the King Thorin still bothered by his wound? Were there deeper hurts that couldn’t be solved with cleaning and binding?

Bilbo shook his head. He had learnt not to take much stock in the gossip here in Erebor, especially not the one bandied around by chambermaids. The King had probably just had an unusually late night, and that had been expanded into an all-night vigil through repeated telling of the story between the servants.

King Thorin was alright. Of course he was alright.

 

X—X

 

There was a third odd occurrence, though Bilbo couldn’t exactly dismiss this as a rumour because he had it from a first-hand source.

He and Frodo were walking back from lunch in the great hall when they were intercepted by Fíli and Kíli. The two lads greeted the hobbits with a smile, but Bilbo could sense some uneasiness in their manner.

They fell into step on either side of Bilbo and Frodo, walking with them through the mountain.

‘We have to talk to you about something.’ Fíli said.

‘It’s about Uncle Thorin.’ Kíli added.

Bilbo nodded briefly. ‘Well, we can’t talk here in a public hallway. Let’s go to the library.’

The library was empty but for a single scribe working away at his desk. The four of them adjourned to a table at the opposite side of the room.

‘Now,’ Bilbo whispered to the two brothers. ‘What do you have to say?’

‘Well, it’s about Frodo.’ Fíli said as they all turned to the young hobbit.

‘Me?’ Frodo laughed slightly at his friends’ solemn faces. ‘Don’t look so serious. I’m not dying, am I?’

‘You have to make friends with Uncle Thorin again.’ Fíli said. ‘You just have to.’ 

‘Whatever he may have said or done to you,’ Kíli said, ‘I’m sure he regrets it.’

‘But he hasn’t done anything. In fact, I haven’t seen him for some time now.’ Frodo said with a bewildered smile.

‘But that’s the whole point!’ Fíli shouted before being shushed by Bilbo. The scribe in the other end of the room lifted his head slightly.

‘ _Why_ haven’t you seen him?’ Kíli whispered.

‘Because he hasn’t asked to see me.’ Frodo said slowly. ‘And I’m not going to plead to spend _more_ time with the King. It’s not exactly a barrel of laughs, taking leisurely walks while he points out passing tapestries or drinking endless cups of tea, as we both listen to the noises coming from the hallway outside.’

‘Frodo--,’ Bilbo said, ready to admonish his nephew.

‘No, it’s fine, Uncle Bilbo.’ Frodo gestured to Fíli and Kíli. ‘They already know.’

‘I don’t understand it. If nothing’s changed between you two,’ Fíli said. ‘Then why is Uncle so… so….’

Bilbo was losing his patience. ‘So what?’ he said a bit loudly, making that scribe shuffle in his seat.

‘Different.’ Kíli simply said, shrugging his shoulders.

‘Quiet, withdrawn, he snaps at his council a lot.’ Fíli added.

‘Doesn’t sound that different.’ Frodo mumbled under his breath.

‘You don’t know him like we do,’ Kíli said. ‘Sure, he can be a grumpy sod, but there was always a basic sense of contentment about him. That’s gone now.’

Bilbo sucked in a breath. ‘You’re not saying--,’

‘Yes,’ Fíli said. ‘He’s unhappy.’

Bilbo pressed his lips together and looked down. Every instinct in his body told him to run to the King, to ask him what was wrong, and to tell him that Bilbo would do whatever possible to make everything right again. But he knew what the reason was for King Thorin’s dark mood. And that couldn’t be removed as long as the snow didn’t melt.

Kíli studied Bilbo’s bowed head for a moment before sharing a look and a nod with Fíli.

‘Bilbo?’ he said, ‘Can I talk to you alone?’

Bilbo nodded, and they moved to a different corner of the library behind some shelves.

Kíli hesitated slightly. ‘You didn’t tell him, did you? Uncle Thorin, I mean.’

Bilbo held his breath. ‘Tell him what?

‘About… how you feel.’ Kíli looked down at his feet.

‘What?’ Bilbo had to force himself to keep whispering.

‘Because it’s the only explanation: He must have received some news which has unsettled him. And he’s not sharing it with anyone else, so it must be something embarrassing.’

‘Oh, thank you very much for that.’ Bilbo muttered darkly.

‘You know what I mean.’ Kíli said as he glanced back at Fíli and Frodo.

‘Well, I didn’t tell him anything.’ Bilbo said. It was the truth after all. No meaningful words had been shared between them that morning. And for Bilbo, that kiss was becoming a totally meaningless gesture. It had got him nothing but a stomach ache.

 

X—X

 

What was strange about the fourth incident was not so much the message itself, but who the messenger was.

Bilbo was outside the mountain, taking deep breaths of fresh air. There was some indescribable change going on around him. The wind blowing in his face had gentled and seemed to leave a layer of dampness on his coat and skin. When he inhaled deeply, the frost no longer burned in his throat and lungs. And his hands no longer felt the need to be buried deeply in the pockets of his winter coat.

He was enjoying the silence away from the bustling mountain when it was broken by a loud bird call above him.

It was a hoarse, deep sound and he soon spotted a large, black bird circling overhead. He followed its path through the sky, interested in seeing where the birds hid before spring arrived. But it soon disappeared behind the mountain.

Bilbo turned his gaze back to the view of the west. The Misty Mountains were a clear gray against the blue sky, and he closed his eyes, imagining taking a great leap over those snowy peaks, flying among the clouds before landing safely in Rivendell. From there it would be easy, just keep on the wide East-West road, and then…

‘Finally!’ A croaky voice sounded behind him.

Bilbo whirled around, looking for the source of that unnerving sound. There was no one near. He craned his neck, trying to look for the guards near the entrance to the mountain, but they were too far away. 

He hugged his arms around his body. Had the sound of the wind tricked him? Or had the sound of someone speaking on the other side of the mountain echoed back to where he was standing? He could almost feel his ears standing to attention as he strained to hear anymore words.

A raven hopped into his line of sight. Bilbo took a step back, the sheer size of the bird making him uneasy. Its beady eyes followed his progress, as he slowly backed away. That beak looked very sharp. Bilbo sorted through his knowledge of wild life, as one question kept going back and forth in his head: Are ravens birds of prey?

The bird opened its beak, and Bilbo braced himself for the sound of a loud caw, but that croaky voice spoke again.

‘Could you stop moving and take my message?’ 

Bilbo had never been spoken to by a raven before and certainly not by such a rude raven.

‘M-message?’ He still kept his distance from that sharp-looking beak.

Bilbo could swear he heard the bird sigh. ‘Some of us have families we want to get home to, you know. It’s bad enough that I had to go all the way to the Shire and back.’

Bilbo’s eyes widened. ‘The Shire?’

‘Well, Hobbiton, to be more specific. And I’ve been circling this mountain for some time now, looking for someone intelligent to take my message.’ The Raven hopped closer to Bilbo, looking him up and down. ‘I guess you’ll have to do.’

Bilbo had the good manners to ignore rudeness from birds. ‘You’ve been to Hobbiton? How is everyone there?’

‘Couldn’t tell. Wasn’t exactly making a social call. Will you take my message?’

‘Yes, alright.’ Bilbo looked down the raven’s body, looking for any attached pieces of parchment. ‘Where is it?’

‘What do you take me for? A simple carrier pigeon?’ The bird fluffed up the feathers on its chest. ‘I am a valued messenger and a diplomat of Erebor. Not a pack mule for letters.’

Bilbo crossed his arms. ‘What’s the message then?’

The raven squawked and spread its wings to fly up to sit on a ledge above Bilbo. It lifted its head with great importance as it started to speak again.

‘To his Majesty, King Thorin of Erebor from Fortinbras Took II, Thain of the Shire. The message is…’ The bird paused for effect. Bilbo pressed his lips together in annoyance.

The raven continued. ‘It’s a deal.’

Bilbo nodded his head, waiting for the bird to finish speaking until he realized that it had completely stopped. ‘That’s it? “It’s a deal”? What kind of message is that?’

The bird looked away from Bilbo. ‘The kind shared between Kings and Thains, and it’s not the place of the messenger to question its importance.’ It took off, circling over Bilbo’s head. ‘Are you sure you’ll be able to remember the message?’

Bilbo frowned, turning in a circle while he followed the bird with his eyes. ‘Quite sure, yes.’ He said drily.

‘Goodbye, then.’ The bird called out, circling ever higher. ‘And watch out for that icicle.’

‘What--?’ was all Bilbo said before he heard a groaning sound from above him. His eyes focused on a large spike of ice hanging from a high ledge, seeing the cracks forming on the surface. He ducked out of the way, landing in a pile of snow, and watched the falling ice crash and splinter on the slab of stone on which he had been standing.

Bilbo pushed himself to stand up again; ready to brush off the snow clinging to his coat, but found that it was more wet than frosty. He looked up at the point from where the spike had fallen. Water dripped lazily down from the stone. Bilbo thought about the mild wind, the wet snow, and the damp air and he understood at once what was happening around him.

Everything had started to thaw. Spring was coming.


	20. Chapter 20

Bilbo was nothing if not a conscientious hobbit. And even if that raven had been intolerably rude, he would do what he had promised. 

He had to seek out the King to give him the message.

This turned out to be more difficult than he had thought.

‘His Majesty is working in his office.’ A passing servant told him.

‘He’s gone off to a meeting with his council.’ A snobbish office scribe glanced at Bilbo shortly before returning to her work.

‘I’m sorry to say that his Majesty is not here.’ An advisor said, looking to his colleagues for confirmation.

Bilbo almost growled in frustration. ‘Do you know _where_ he is then?’

‘I think you should ask Master Dwalin. It’s _his_ job to know where the King is at all times.’

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he went out the door.

Dwalin wasn’t in the library with Ori or at the guards’ quarters. But a guard knew where Bilbo could find him.

‘He’s down in the Cave of Stars with the King.’ The guard moved closer to the hobbit, his hand touching the small of Bilbo’s back. ‘Do you need me to show you the way, little one?’

Bilbo moved away from his touch, forcing a polite smile, though he didn’t know why he was being nice to such a presumptuous dwarf. 

‘No, thank you. I can manage to find my way.’

‘Pity.’ The guard’s smirking face disappeared from view as Bilbo shut the door behind him.

Now, the Cave of Stars. Bilbo could well remember that day down in the mines when he, Fíli, and Kíli had got lost on their way to that place. And, when he had finally found the cave, how bright those lights had shone on the dark ceiling above them, how close King Thorin had stood next to him, and how the visit had abruptly ended when the King’s mood had suddenly turned sour. Bilbo hoped to find him in a more convivial frame of mind today. At least enough to receive a short message from the hobbit who kissed him.

He found the stairs going down into the mines and started his slow descent, mindful of tilted and slippery steps. At the bottom, he took a torch and lit it in a nearby fireplace, knowing that he was going into the darkest parts of the mountain.

Sounds of miners working the stone echoed around him, and Bilbo found it a comfort to know that he was not alone down here in the dark. He thought of Bofur and his friends joking as they worked, their bodies steaming with sweat in this cold and stony hollow.

He came to the large underground lake and stopped to admire the black stillness of the water. He leant over the railing, reaching down with his torch to shine a light on the surface, wondering if there was anything alive down there. 

_BOOM_

Bilbo started as the walls shook around him, and he felt his torch slip from his hand. He grabbed frantically for it, but could only watch as the small light fell down, finally extinguishing in the lake beneath him.

Darkness surrounded him. Bilbo had never been in total darkness before. Through force of habit, he waited for his eyes to adapt, waited for the surroundings to appear as murky silhouettes before him. But nothing changed. Everything was black. There was no source of light this far underground.

He tried to stay calm as he clenched his fingers around the railing. If he kept hold of this, he might be able to find his way back to the stairs. His usually nimble feet shuffled over the stony floor, feeling for any obstacles in his way. The lack of sight had heightened his sense of hearing, and the sounds of footsteps and voices echoed around him. Before he had found the noises comforting, but in his blindness they became spooky. He had no idea where they were coming from, and his body tensed in anticipation of what he might meet in the dark.

The sound of his heart was loud in his chest, and his breath seemed to race alongside it. He closed his eyes and opened them again. It made not difference. All around him was darkness, and he was alone.

But suddenly up ahead, he saw light moving towards him. He bowed his head over the railing and clenched his eyes shut. Oh, thank Yavanna, Eru and all the others. He would not be abandoned down here.

He moved slowly towards the source of the light, and he heard voices coming from the same place.

‘I thought they weren’t doing any major excavations today?’

Well, Bilbo thought, from the sound of that voice at least I’ve finally found King Thorin.

‘I’ll go and see what’s going on.’ 

And that brazen guard had been right: Dwalin was down here as well.

The light in the distance split into two, one moving quickly away from Bilbo while the other stayed still.

As he moved closer, his hand brushing against the stone wall to keep him grounded, he started to make out the details of the figure holding the torch. It was undoubtedly the King, the grey in his hair shining in the darkness.

He decided to call out to the dwarf instead of jumping out from the shadows and surprising him.

‘Your Majesty.’ His voice was weak from his earlier shock and the words faltered and faded in his mouth.

King Thorin whirled around, shining his torch in front of him. ‘Who’s there?’

Bilbo stepped into the reach of the light, shielding his sensitive eyes from the powerful glare.

The King breathed out heavily at the sight of him. ‘What are you doing down here?!’ His tone was brusque and loud, making Bilbo flinch away from him.

‘I--,’ Bilbo started.

‘And where’s your torch? How can you even _think_ of going down here without a torch?’ The King strode to where Bilbo was standing, shining all around, seemingly looking for something else.

‘I _had_ a torch, but--,’

‘Did someone leave you down here alone? Was it one of your miner _friends_?’

Bilbo made a frustrated sound, his hands going to his hair. ‘Will you listen to me?’

‘No, you listen to me. I can’t have you doing something like this; like going down to the mines alone. Not now.’ King Thorin stared into Bilbo’s eyes. ‘Not ever.’

Bilbo crossed his arms and stood straighter, refusing to be cowed by the King’s imposing presence. ‘First of all, I could go and jump off the side of the mountain and you wouldn’t be able to stop me. You have _no_ say in what I do.’

‘And don’t I know it.’ King Thorin mumbled.

‘Second of all,’ Bilbo continued, ignoring the King’s mutterings. ‘I wouldn’t even be down here in this dank and horrible place, if I didn’t have to give _you_ a message.’

‘A message?’ The King frowned, stepping closer. ‘From you?’

‘N-no.’ Bilbo stammered. ‘From Fortinbras Took. From the Shire.’

The King’s hand, which was holding the torch aloft, dropped a bit. King Thorin looked away, taking a deep breath as he squared his shoulders. ‘What’s the message?’

‘”It’s a deal.”’ Bilbo waited for some kind of reaction but none came. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s all the raven told me. I don’t know what it means, but--,’

‘No, it’s fine.’ King Thorin closed his eyes briefly. ‘It’s good.’

Bilbo studied the flickering shadows on the cave wall as they stood in silence for a moment. He finally cleared his throat to speak.

‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about?’

‘Not right now. Later, perhaps.’

Bilbo swallowed. ‘At least tell me if it’s about Frodo?’

‘No.’ King Thorin looked back into Bilbo’s eyes. ‘It’s not about Frodo.’

 

X—X

 

The snow kept thawing the following days after that moment in the lower mines. 

Bilbo looked up from his book in the library to stare at the melting icicles. They gleamed in the sun, and sweated heavy drops down past the open window. These were quickly followed by a heavy slush of snow, falling from somewhere further up the mountain.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by Ori, who laid that silly book on hobbits on the table in front of him.

‘Do you have the time to continue this?’ He asked Bilbo, not waiting for an answer before finding pieces of parchment and a quill.

Bilbo blinked at the sudden intrusion. Ori mostly slipped around silently in the library, often only greeting Bilbo with a warm smile when he arrived and a friendly wave when he left. He knew that Bilbo prized this place as a sanctuary and only talked when Bilbo instigated a conversation.

‘Yes, of course. But what’s the rush? We’re more than halfway through already.’ Bilbo smiled. ‘Didn’t we finish “Seasons and Holidays” last time?’

‘Yes, and we have to get through the entire book before the passage down the mountain clears.’ Ori opened the book to find the next chapter, not noticing how still Bilbo had become next to him.

‘Why would that matter?’ Bilbo said slowly.

Did Ori know something? Bilbo hadn’t shared his desire to leave Erebor with anybody else but Frodo. And that was before the snows had imprisoned him for the winter. He had _longed_ for spring to come, but didn’t think his longing had been so intense as to show on his face for anyone who cared to look.

Ori looked up and smiled at him. ‘Oh, it isn’t true then?’

Bilbo frowned. ‘What is?’

‘I said to Dori that it didn’t make sense. Dori, that’s my brother.’ Ori straightened the parchments and opened a pot of ink. ‘But he was so adamant, and they hadn’t been seen together in such a long time, and then that scribe told me--,’

‘Ori!’ Bilbo interrupted him loudly. ‘You’re not making any sense. What has your brother got to do with the snow thawing on the mountain?’

Ori slowly replaced the quill in the inkpot. ‘Well, my brother has a tea stall in the market place. Do you know it?’

‘Yes, I know it. Just get on with the story.’

‘Right. And of course, he gets a lot of talkative customers. One of his frequent customers is a royal guard, who told him what he had heard from a chambermaid, who regularly lights the fires in the room where the King’s council meets.’

Bilbo blinked rapidly. ‘So a maid told a royal guard, who told your brother, and now you’re telling me?’

Ori smiled and gave a relieved nod. ‘Yes.’

Bilbo raised his eyebrows expectantly when the librarian didn’t continue. ‘Told me what?’

‘Oh! That the courtship between Frodo and the King is finished.’

Bilbo’s jaw dropped and he gawped at the dwarf sitting next to him. ‘I don’t… I don’t think that’s true.’

‘No, it obviously isn’t, or you would know about it.’ Ori took up his quill again. ‘I’m so glad it isn’t true! I was afraid the two of you would leave Erebor as soon as possible, and at the rate the snow was thawing, we would have no time at all to finish this project.’ He pushed the book on hobbits closer to Bilbo.

Bilbo stared down at the words on the page, but the shapes made no sense to him. He looked back up at Ori. ‘You mentioned something about a scribe earlier..?’

‘He was working here in the library and overheard Frodo complaining about the King, about how tiresome this courtship was?’ Ori looked expectantly at Bilbo for either a confirmation or a denial.

Bilbo thought about the royal guard, and the maid, and the scribe, and Ori’s brother with the talkative customers. Every one of them was obviously willing to share their bits of gossip with someone else. He closed his eyes. What were the chances that the news of Frodo’s discontentment hadn’t travelled all around Erebor and back again? And it must have reached King Thorin’s ears as well.

He needed to fix this. 

Without thinking, Bilbo stood up, his chair scraping against the rough floor. 

Ori looked up at him. ‘Are you alright, Bilbo?’

‘No. I need to speak with the King.’ He moved away from the table, buttoning his jacket as he went. ‘Do you know where I can find him now?’

‘Yes, he must be holding court in the throne room right about now.’ Ori stood and followed Bilbo. ‘But I don’t think they’ll take kindly to interruptions. Can’t it wait? Come and sit back down.’

‘No, it can’t wait.’ Bilbo threw open the door. ‘I have to go.’

 

X—X

 

His steps slowed as he neared the throne room. Bilbo stopped completely, contemplating the closed door and the two guards placed on either side of it.

One of the guards glanced at Bilbo hovering in the hallway, but turned his head back to gaze at the empty space in front of him.

Bilbo took a deep breath and went up to the two dwarves. ‘Could you please let me into the throne room?’

‘No admittance.’ One of the guards said shortly, looking above Bilbo’s head to the wall behind him.

‘But surely--,’ Bilbo started before he was interrupted by the other guard.

‘His Majesty and his council are working.’

Bilbo pressed his lips together in annoyance, expelling a short burst of air through his nose. Impossible dwarves! He moved away from the door, walking a couple of steps down the hallway.

Just as he was about to turn back and abandon his mission, something lit up inside him. No, he wasn’t going to give up now. Not while he still had his wits about him. Maybe he could use this unfortunate situation between Frodo and the King to his advantage.

He went back to the guards, smiling politely. ‘But I have a message from his Majesty’s intended.’

He saw the guards glancing at each other. The one on the left hesitated before he addressed Bilbo.

‘You can leave the message with us.’ He paused, nodding to his partner. ‘We’ll make sure his Majesty receives it when he’s not busy.’

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.’ Bilbo rocked back and forth on his feet. 

The guards stood straighter. ‘Why not?’ One of them said. ‘You can rely on us. We won’t tell anyone but the King.’

‘It’s not that.’ Bilbo smiled charmingly. ‘I know that the guards of Erebor are known for their discretion. But this is a… _personal_ matter between the King and his intended.’ He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

The guards shifted slightly and shared a look between them. ‘I don’t know…’ the one on the right said.

Bilbo straightened and put his hands behind his back, ready to walk away. ‘Right! I’ll just let the King know that it was you two who hindered his longed-for reunion with his beloved.’

‘Master Baggins?’ One of them called out to him as he turned down the hallway. ‘It’s not a complicated message? It won’t take long?’

Bilbo looked down at the floor to hide his smile. ‘No, I just need a quick visit.’

The guard on the right put his ear to the wooden door, his face set in concentration. ‘Alright.’ He pulled back. ‘Go on in now.’

Bilbo smiled brightly. ‘Thank you! I’ll be sure to tell the King how helpful you were.’

The guards cracked the door open and Bilbo slipped inside.

As the door shut behind him, the sound of it echoed through the large and sparsely furnished room. The cold stone lay before his feet, no carpet to muffle his step as he proceeded through the wide expanse of the throne room. On both sides of him he could see groups of advisors and scribes working by tables or conversing in the corners. Most of them stopped whatever they were doing to follow his progress towards the throne at the top of the room.

Bilbo looked straight ahead, his eyes on the two dwarves directly in front of him. King Thorin was sitting on the ostentatious throne while Balin was bending over him, a quiet discussion going on between them.

Somewhere in the room, something dropped heavily down, making a loud, blunt noise. The King instinctively looked up from his talk with his advisor and finally noticed Bilbo making his way towards him. He sat straighter in his seat, his hands gripping the sturdy armrests of the throne. Balin looked up as well, a small smile growing on his face as he spotted the hobbit.

The room was completely silent when Bilbo finally came to a stop in front of the throne. He swallowed, trying to clear his throat silently, and stood straighter with his feet apart to address King Thorin on his throne.

‘Your Majesty.’ Bilbo sketched a bow, hearing a slight echo of his voice going around the room. ‘I would speak with you.’

The King sat forward in his seat. ‘Yes?’

Bilbo glanced at the many dwarves milling around the room. They all had eyes and ears, and he would prefer it if no more dwarves learnt about that false rumour concerning Frodo and the King ending their courtship. Even if it was denounced thoroughly, remnants of it would always linger in the minds of the inhabitants of Erebor. It would be better to limit its reach now.

He moved closer to the King and lowered his voice. ‘Could- could we talk privately, your Majesty?’ 

King Thorin was silent, studying the hobbit’s face. Bilbo didn’t think he was asking for a lot. Maybe there was some small room close by that they could quickly go to and—

‘Right. Everybody leave.’ The King’s voiced boomed throughout the room, followed by the noises of advisors, scribes and guards scuttling through various doors. Balin passed Bilbo on his way out, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Bilbo turned in a circle to see the abandoned and silent room surrounding him. His gaze returned to the King who stood up from his throne and ambled down to Bilbo.

‘Well, Master Baggins,’ he murmured, standing quite close. ‘What could be so important that you had to interrupt the work of my council?’

Bilbo took a step back, needing to be further away from King Thorin’s intoxicating presence. ‘I had to talk to you.’

A small smile twitched around the King’s lips. ‘Yes, so I gathered.’ He kept staring at Bilbo’s face, shifting his gaze between his eyes and his mouth.

‘It’s about Frodo.’

‘Oh.’ The King turned back towards his throne. ‘I see.’

Bilbo breathed out slowly as the heat of the King moved away. ‘I heard a most disturbing rumour today.’ He said as he followed King Thorin with his eyes.

The King sat back down on his throne, slumping slightly in his seat. ‘Really? About Frodo?’

Bilbo moved a bit closer. ‘And about you.’

King Thorin tapped some indefinable rhythm on the arm of his throne, humming indifferently. ‘Well, I wouldn’t let it bother you. There’ll always be stories going around about the King and those closest to him.’

Bilbo frowned and looked down at his feet.

‘Though,’ the King said, ‘From the look on your face, it must be something more serious than the usual gossip.’ He sat forward in his seat. ‘Please…tell me?’

‘I’m surprised you don’t know already. The stories seem to have been circling around all of Erebor for the last day or two.’ Bilbo took a deep breath. ‘It’s being said that Frodo has been complaining about you in public, and that you’ve halted your courtship with him. But it isn’t true!’ Bilbo didn’t feel one ounce of remorse at lying to the King, not when it came to protecting his nephew’s reputation.

‘Oh.’ King Thorin looked away.

‘You believe me, don’t you? What they’re saying about Frodo... I mean, his words must have been misunderstood.’

‘I hadn’t heard that rumour.’ A muscle tightened along the King’s jaw. ‘But I believe you when you say it isn’t true.’

Bilbo felt tension leaving his body. ‘Thank you.’

‘Is that all?’ King Thorin sat up straighter.

‘No…’ Bilbo hesitated. ‘If I could ask for one favour?’

The King nodded, but he still wasn’t looking at Bilbo.

‘I think the two of you should make some sort of appearance together in public.’ He said, trying to catch King Thorin’s gaze. ‘Just to put the rumours to rest. To show that your courtship is still happening. And that Frodo has done nothing wrong.’

The King sat in silence for a moment, his hand moving restlessly. ‘I can’t do that.’ He looked back into Bilbo’s eyes for a moment. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He closed his eyes against the sight of Bilbo’s confused face. ‘I wish I could have been the first to tell you.’

‘What are you saying?’ Bilbo held his breath.

The restless hand clenched into a fist, and the King made an aborted strike against the side of the throne. ‘It shouldn’t have left this room! Not yet, anyway.’ He made a frustrated growl. ‘I should have known that it would be difficult to keep such a secret within the council.’

Bilbo started to suspect, but he could barely believe it. ‘Tell me. Please.’

King Thorin brushed his long hair out of his face with an abrupt gesture and finally looked into Bilbo’s eyes.

‘I’m stopping the courtship.’


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was a bit later than I originally imagined. I had a bit of a rough week and all my energy was drained by something else. I'm sorry I haven't responded to any of the comments on the last chapter, but I just didn't have the time. Just know, that each and every one of them made me grin like a fool, and I went back and read them all several times during this week to cheer myself up. Thank you so much to everyone for their kind words. They really helped me. :)

_‘I’m stopping the courtship.’_

The chief emotion flooding through Bilbo’s body was anger. Red, hot anger. He breathed heavily through his nose, trying to control his lungs from running amok.

He thought about his travel along the East-West Road, and how sore his body had been every night after a full day of pony-riding. He thought about how alone and ignored he had felt when he first arrived in Erebor. He thought about how much colder winter seemed on this side of the world. He thought about the heartache he had suffered at learning to love King Thorin but never being able to tell him. He thought about his lost handkerchief.

‘How dare you?!’ It burst out of him, the pressure demanding an outlet.

‘What?’ The King sat straighter on his throne, his eyes searching Bilbo’s face.

‘Was this all just some massive joke to you? Did you giggle with your advisors while you planned on dragging two hobbits half-way across the world? Did you want to see if the Shire would jump to your demands as soon as you uttered them?’

Bilbo turned around and strode away from the King, his nervous energy forcing him to move further into the open throne room. ‘Well, I guess you were right!’ He shouted back to the dwarf.

King Thorin stood up, following the incensed hobbit. ‘Bilbo--,’

‘And I can’t believe--,’ Bilbo closed his eyes, feeling frustrated tears welling up. ‘I can’t believe I felt _sorry_ for you when you told me why Erebor needed the trade agreement and how you were giving up your last chance of love for a political marriage.’

Bilbo whirled around, lifting an accusing finger. ‘But you were probably lying about that as well, weren’t you? You probably have a string of dwarves here in Erebor to keep you satisfied. And now you were getting bored of having to spend time with Frodo and me and wanted to get back to your – your – your harem!’ His yell echoed throughout the sparsely furnished room.

The King tried grabbing for Bilbo’s hand but he wrenched it away in time, his eyes wild as he stared at the dwarf in front of him.

King Thorin made a frustrated sound. ‘Will you listen to me?’

‘Why? So you can tell me more lies?’

‘I’m not lying to you!’

Bilbo shook his head, turned around and headed for the door. ‘Don’t worry,’ he shouted back to King Thorin. ‘We’ll leave you alone! As soon as the passage clears, Frodo and I will be gone from Erebor. I promise you that!’

He could hear heavy footsteps behind him, felt strong hands grabbing his shoulders and was suddenly facing the King instead of the door.

‘I will not have you run from me – from this – anymore!’ The King’s eyes burned as they stared into Bilbo’s. 

The hobbit shrugged his shoulders away from King Thorin’s touch and took a step back, still facing the dwarf. ‘I’m not the one running away. _You’re_ running away!’

‘And why do you think that is?!’ King Thorin was yelling as well. ‘Why do you think I was ready to enter into a marriage with Frodo just a few months ago but have now completely changed my mind?!’

‘I really can’t imagine! Probably some dwarven idiocy!’

‘Well, maybe I _am_ an idiot!’ King Thorin took a step closer to Bilbo. ‘Because I’ve fallen in love with you!’

That last shout rung through the silence of the throne room, accompanied by the harsh breathing coming from both Bilbo and the King.

‘That’s…’ Bilbo took a deep breath. ‘That’s not funny.’

King Thorin sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. ‘No, it’s not. But it’s true.’ He looked into Bilbo’s eyes, his own ones seeming to implore the hobbit to see him, to finally believe him.

‘I can’t--,’ Bilbo made to turn towards the door once more when he felt his hand being gently held by a larger one.

‘And you feel something for me as well,’ the King said as he moved closer to Bilbo, ‘or did I dream that kiss that morning?’

Bilbo swallowed as he stared up at the dwarf. His lips felt dry, and he quickly licked them.

The King’s gaze followed the movement of Bilbo’s tongue before returning to Bilbo’s eyes. ‘But then again, I often dream about you. Though that kiss was better than all the other kisses we’ve shared in my mind.’

The movement was tiny and shouldn’t have felt so momentous. But when Bilbo turned his hand over in King Thorin’s grip, holding those broad fingers just as firmly as they held him, he felt something shift within him, and his shoulders finally relaxed after a long winter.

‘You didn’t dream it.’ Bilbo slowly lifted his other hand, letting it brush over the King’s cheek and feeling the tickling sensation of the dark beard beneath the pads of his fingers.

He watched in fascination as King Thorin closed his eyes, letting his head press against Bilbo’s hand like a needy cat.

‘I can’t believe it…’ The King whispered. ‘After all this time…’

Suddenly his eyes flew open and Bilbo felt hands grabbing him around the waist, hauling him upwards until his lips met King Thorin’s in a bruising kiss. His body curved backwards at the waist, and his hands floundered aimlessly next to the King’s shoulders, before coming to rest at the other’s neck, feeling the tense muscles flexing beneath his touch. His feet arched upwards to reach King Thorin while his calf muscles burned with the strain of being distended in this way.

But all this faded into the background when Bilbo closed his eyes, relishing in the realization that he was being kissed and was kissing right back. Just as it should be. He could finally enjoy the warmth of King Thorin in this cold mountain.

One of his legs faltered slightly, and the contact between the two was broken as he sank back down on his heels, the King’s arms still encircling his waist.

King Thorin stared down at him, his chest heaving with each breath. ‘I have an idea.’ He said and grabbed Bilbo’s hand again, leading him back to the throne.

As they reached the seat, the King sat down and pulled his hobbit to sit on his lap.

Bilbo felt the cold stone of the throne beneath his exposed shins, but it gave an illicit thrill to what they were about to do. He kneeled on either side of King Thorin’s thighs, staring down into his upturned face and gently pushing hair away from his temples.

The King pulled him closer, his mouth hovering over that bit of Bilbo’s throat that lay exposed above his tied neckerchief. ‘Can I…?’ He breathed out, making the skin prickle from the caressing warmth.

Bilbo closed his eyes and nodded frantically. ‘Please…’ It descended into a gasp when King Thorin’s lips and tongue met his sensitive skin, making Bilbo feel branded with heat.

He tilted his head back, giving more room to the King’s roaming caresses, and grabbed the sides of the dwarf’s head. ‘Thorin…’ The name slipped easily from his lips.

The King groaned deeply, leaning his head against Bilbo’s chest. ‘Say that again.’

Bilbo emerged from his fog to look down at the dwarf’s bent head. ‘Say what?’

‘My name. Please…’ He looked back into Bilbo’s eyes.

‘Oh,’ Bilbo grinned, lowering his lips to hover above the King’s ear. ‘Thorin.’

The dwarf gave a deep shudder. ‘Again.’

Bilbo moved to Thorin’s mouth, so close that his tongue almost flicked over the other’s lips with the first syllable. ‘ _Thorin_.’

Strong arms squeezed Bilbo’s chest close to the King’s, his body coming to rest snugly in the dwarf’s lap.

‘Do you know--,’ Thorin was stopped by a short, heated kiss from Bilbo before continuing. ‘Do you know how often I wished for you to call me by my name? I used to fantasize about giving up Erebor, giving up my throne, leaving my crown and my duties behind me. You’d be in the room when it happened, and when it was all done, I’d walk to where you were standing. You would finally smile up at me and say my name. No more “Your Majesty”.’ The King stopped to smile at feeling Bilbo peppering kisses over his cheeks. ‘I used to be so proud of my title in my youth. But every time I heard you utter those two words with a polite smile and your eyes averted, I grew to loathe it, to hate it.’ His voice was heated as he gazed up at the hobbit.

Bilbo laughed. ‘The reason I had my eyes averted was not a show of deference, but rather to avoid you discovering how plainly I wanted you. I have always felt that it must have been written on my face for all to see.’

‘Not for me.’ Thorin moved his hands up Bilbo’s back, bunching his jacket up until they finally tried to grab handfuls of his closely fitted waistcoat. ‘How many blasted layers do I have to go through?’

Bilbo laughed joyfully as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, letting it hang freely. ‘Well, you try and figure that out. That’ll keep you distracted while I do this.’ He pushed the front of the surcoat further open, and his fingers found the ties to Thorin’s shirt, nimbly untying them one by one, until an expanse of firm chest lay before his eyes.

He breathed out heavily as he reached out his hand, feeling the strong muscle move beneath his touch. He closed his eyes and focused. There. There it is. A steady thump against his hand, slightly quicker than what it should be. Thorin was alive. Thorin was here. It was not another fantasy. He bent forward, letting his sensitive lips feel the warm, beating heart below the skin. It was wonderful.

The King’s hands had slid up from his exploration of Bilbo’s back and were now caressing his neck and head. One of the broad fingers swiped over the tip of Bilbo’s right ear, and sparks travelled down his spine and gathered in his lap.

Bilbo moaned and pressed himself closer to Thorin.

The King chuckled. ‘Really?’ He said as he brushed over Bilbo’s other ear, obviously relishing in the feel of the hobbit rubbing up against him. ‘I must remember that for later.’

Bilbo blinked at that thought. He placed his hands on Thorin’s shoulders and pushed himself away from that tempting body, suddenly feeling sober. ‘Will there be a later?’

The King brushed his hands down Bilbo’s back and gently grabbed the hobbit’s hips. ‘What do you mean? Of course there will. I’ve waited so long…’ Thorin tried pulling him closer once more, but Bilbo still kept him at arm’s length. 

‘And you’re still courting my nephew. At least in the eyes of all of Erebor, that is.’

An irritated growl escaped Thorin’s lips. ‘What does that matter? I’m the king. They’ll just have to get used to the change.’

Bilbo felt like throwing his hands up in exasperation. ‘Yes, you’re the king. And you must live in a majestic bubble, indeed, to account for the absolute rubbish you sometimes say.’

The King’s face was neutral, but the blue of his eyes gleamed. ‘I usually only let Dís or Dwalin speak to me in that way.’ 

‘Yes, well, now there are three of us.’ Bilbo said briskly.

‘Yes, there is, isn’t there?’ Thorin grinned and pulled Bilbo close again, kissing him deeply, his warm tongue questing into Bilbo’s mouth, asking him to play.

When he got his wits back, Bilbo once again pushed firmly on Thorin’s shoulders, his breath heaving as he moved back. ‘You’re trying to distract me.’

‘Yes, I am. This is a very boring conversation to have when you’ve got Bilbo Baggins on your lap, squirming sweetly while calling me a fool.’

‘Oh, yes, I was saying—,’ Bilbo straightened, sitting back further on Thorin’s thighs as the other groaned in frustration.

‘You don’t move around Erebor unseen like I do.’ Bilbo said, ignoring Thorin’s hands brushing up and down his thighs. ‘Your subjects talk about you. All the time. What you ate for dinner, how late you stay up, who you are seen with and how often. And they all judge your actions and share their opinions with others.’ Bilbo placed his hands on Thorin’s, stopping their movement. ‘And you can’t ignore that to do whatever _you_ want.’

Thorin sighed. ‘Then what do you suggest we do?’

‘We have to find some way to sway the general opinion of the dwarves of Erebor.’

‘From Frodo towards you? Make them recognize that you’re the superior choice as a King’s Consort.’

‘But without defaming Frodo, of course.’ Bilbo quickly said.

The King hummed. ‘That definitely needs careful deliberation. But while we think…’ Thorin pulled him closer again and started untucking his white shirt from his trousers. As the cold gleam of the Mithril shirt appeared between them, he laughed in disbelief.

‘I thought I was finally done! Do you even have skin, you blasted gentlehobbit, or is it just another layer of finely tailored fabric?’

Bilbo laughed as well. ‘You were the one who told me never to take the Mithril armour off!’

‘Did I?’ The King rucked the metal shirt up until it was bunched around Bilbo’s waist. ‘I must have been mad. But then you often make me feel mad, dearest Bilbo.’ His hands finally touched smooth skin, his fingers grabbing the soft flesh being pressed up by Bilbo’s trousers on either side of his middle.

The cold air of the stony throne room rushed at Bilbo’s exposed skin, but was soon dispelled by the warmth of the King’s hands possessively grabbing and holding every available area of his back, sides and belly.

‘And to think, half a year ago I don’t think I had ever heard of such a thing as hobbits _or_ the Shire,’ Thorin moaned at feeling Bilbo’s hands touching his chest. ‘And now I get to keep Bilbo Baggins, an esteemed hobbit of the Shire, for the rest of my life.’

Bilbo’s hands stilled. ‘The Shire…’ 

Thorin’s lips found their way back to Bilbo’s neck and he lifted his head, giving the King more room to move, without even noticing. ‘Thorin?’

The King hummed, his mouth still kissing its way down Bilbo’s throat.

‘What about the trade agreement?’

Thorin pulled away, frowning. ‘Well, I’ll still be courting someone from the Shire. Would it really matter to your Thain which hobbit it is?’

‘I don’t know…’ Bilbo paused. ‘Fortinbras _personally_ chose Frodo as the candidate. And the trade agreement was to be completed at the event of a marriage between you and Frodo. I saw the document that was signed by you and the Thain. It was quite specific.’

Thorin pulled Bilbo close, hugging him against his chest. ‘Damn diplomacy and bureaucracy.’ He whispered next to the hobbit’s ear. ‘Damn polite manners. Damn whispers and gossip. Damn agreements and parchments. Damn the entire world, as long as I can hold you close like this and feel your warm skin against mine.’

Bilbo pulled away slightly to look into Thorin’s eyes. He smiled sadly. ‘But you can’t damn the next winter and the one after that. You can’t damn the barren land around Erebor. And you can’t damn the trade agreement.’

Thorin closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s. They sat silently, until the rhythm of their breaths matched and the beating of their hearts was in tune.

‘No, I can’t.’ The King pressed a short kiss to Bilbo’s lips. ‘So we’ll have to think of a solution together.’


	22. Chapter 22

A couple of days later the passage down the mountain opened up. 

The market place, which had been rather subdued during the winter, had started to buzz with energy, and as Bilbo passed he heard snippets of conversation between shop-keepers of what they would import from Dale, Lake-town and even as far as Gondor, once the snow had mostly cleared from around Erebor.

The clear sun streaming in from the windows bathed the guards in the hallways with a bright light, and Bilbo had spied one or two with closed eyes and a small smile, enjoying the warmth coming from outside. He smiled as he passed them. So, he thought, these dwarves did enjoy other things than food, ale, and gemstones.

All in all as Bilbo walked through the hallways, he was struck by how much brighter the dwarves passing him seemed to be. He would never call a dwarf light-footed, but the inhabitants of Erebor did have a certain optimistic quality to how they moved through their mountain home.

Yes, Erebor had definitely come back to life.

Or maybe it was just Bilbo’s own mood that coloured everything going on around him. For the last few months it was like he had been tethered around the chest, dragging a boulder behind him, the strain of it forcing him to bend double, and the weight stealing the breath and energy from his body. Now the rope had been cut, and he could stand tall again.

Thorin loved him. And he loved Thorin. And they had finally told each other.

A laugh bubbled out of Bilbo’s mouth, earning him a questioning glance from a passing dwarrowdam. And for the first time in his life he didn’t care that others found him odd. He had come to embrace the oddity his life had become: In love with the King of Erebor who was currently promised away to Bilbo’s nephew. He couldn’t help but grin. It was like a piece of bad fiction.

And Bilbo wasn’t discouraged. Not even when he had realised how little time he would get to have alone with Thorin until they had worked out a plan. He could only meet him by chance or if the King would arrange another meeting with Frodo and his chaperone. Which, for the first time ever, Bilbo dearly hoped that he would.

He arrived at the library, hoping to distract his whirling thoughts of Thorin with doing some work on the hobbit book.

Ori looked up from his desk and smiled when he saw Bilbo shutting the door behind him.

‘Hello, Bilbo.’

‘Hello, Ori.’ Bilbo noticed that the other’s hand was still writing something at the desk. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Just trying to work out how many sheets of parchment and how much ink to order from Dale when the traders finally come back up the mountain.’

Bilbo hummed as he walked closer to the desk, glancing at the figures Ori was writing down.

‘So you don’t have time to look at that book on hobbits?’

Ori looked up. ‘Oh. Right.’ He frowned. ‘Yes, of course. We have to get it done before the snow completely thaws.’ He put down his quill and stood up to retrieve the book from the shelf behind him.

He wasn’t looking at Bilbo as he opened it on the desk and pulled up a second chair for Bilbo to sit on. ‘I hear a trade caravan has already set out from Ered Luin to Erebor. Will you and Frodo return with them to the Shire when they go back again?’

Bilbo sat down next to him. ‘Ori, I already told you. We’re not leaving. Everything’s fine between Frodo and the King.’ Bilbo had to stop his face from wincing at this small lie. After all, he hadn’t said a word about the state of the courtship.

‘But they still haven’t been seen together in public. And now you’re coming to me, eager to finish our work on this book.’ Ori found the page they had been going through the last time.

‘The King’s…busy. I’m sure they’ll find time to meet up soon.’ Bilbo could feel his smile strain. The three of them – Frodo, Bilbo, and the King – would have to have a talk very soon. Frodo had to be told… well, everything, really.

Bilbo placed a hand on Ori’s shoulder. ‘And I just wanted to spend a bit of time with you. And to find out what idiocies this book still contains. If we get started now, I think we’ll be able to finish the chapter on culture and norms today.’

Ori nodded shortly and they set to work, though it was often broken by shared laughter at some of the silly facts written down with such pomposity in the leather-bound volume.

As they were giggling about a drawing of an elaborate mating dance hobbits were supposed to perform in front of their desired “mate” (‘I don’t even think I can get my leg to bend that way!’), the door opened into the library and they both looked up, their cheeks slightly sore from smiles and laughter.

Dwalin entered first, his eyes flitting over the wide expanse of the room, and was then followed by Thorin. The King’s gaze immediately found Bilbo, and even from a distance Bilbo would swear that he could see the blue eyes twinkling with pleasure.

Ori stood up and inclined his head. ‘Your Majesty.’

‘Ah, Master Ori. Just the dwarf I needed to see. The council needs to look over the ledgers of produce purchased from Lake-town over the last 10 years. Could you find them for me?’

Ori shifted from one foot to the other. ‘The last 10 years? That’s at least 20 heavy volumes scattered around the library. Do you need all of them right now?’

‘Yes, it’s for some very important…work.’ Thorin’s eyes flicked to Bilbo before returning to the librarian. ‘And don’t worry about the weight of the books.’ He slapped Dwalin on the back. ‘Take this one with you to help you carry them all.’

‘Oh, yes. Yes, thank you, your Majesty.’ Ori smiled brightly at the prospect of some time alone with Dwalin behind some shelves, and he moved quickly away into the depths of the library.

Dwalin glanced back his King and seemed to give him a pointed look before following the small librarian.

Bilbo raised one eyebrow as Thorin went to join him at the desk. ‘Trade ledgers?’

The King stood behind him, looking over his shoulder at the open book. Bilbo could feel the edges of his surcoat brushing against his back. ‘It’s for some very important work.’

‘It must be, since the King himself shows up in all his majestic presence, instead of sending some lowly assistant to get the books for the council.’

‘You think my presence is majestic? Like a snow-peaked mountain?’ Bilbo could feel the hairs on his neck being disturbed by Thorin’s breath.

‘More like an oliphaunt. Absolutely massive in scale.’ He giggled as he felt the King’s hands coming around his waist to rest on his belly.

‘Insolent hobbit!’ Thorin lightly grabbed a bit of Bilbo’s pudge through his waistcoat. ‘I’m not the one who eats four scones – at least! – every time someone so much as offers me a cup of tea.’

‘It’s not my fault that you dwarves have no idea of the proper amount meals to have during the day. I have to stock up when food is finally offered!’

‘Well, I can already see that you’ll make significant changes when you’re the Consort of Erebor. It’ll be your first official decree: “Meals must be taken at least seven times a day.” And your second decree will likely be on the subject of snacks.’ Thorin kissed the tip of Bilbo’s ear, delighting in the shiver he could feel going through the hobbit’s body. 

‘Thorin…’ Bilbo pressed back into the King’s chest. ‘We’re not alone. We shouldn’t…’

‘Oh, they’re already miles away. And besides, Dwalin already knows.’

‘Does he?’ Bilbo craned his neck, trying to establish eye contact with Thorin. ‘Is that wise?’

‘Dwalin is completely loyal to me.’ The King said firmly. ‘And not much of a talker, as you know. And I had to share my joy with someone!’

‘That’s sweet.’ Bilbo smiled as he turned in the King’s arms, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. ‘But Ori doesn’t know yet, and he has a gossipy brother who owns the most popular tea stall in Erebor.’

‘Nori owns a tea stall?’

‘No, his name is Dori, I think.’

‘Oh, that’s the other brother. Nori wouldn’t exactly be the type to own any kind of market stall.’

‘Right, and – Wait, their names are Ori, Dori and Nori? Seriously?’

‘We dwarves don’t really use last names like you hobbits. So family connections have to be contained within the first name.’

Bilbo brushed his hand over Thorin’s chest. ‘So do I get to look forward to meeting Borin, Horin, and Morin at the family reunion?’ He gave a teasing smirk to the tall dwarf.

The hands tightened around his waist. ‘Oh, I’ve been wanting to introduce you to _horin’_ for quite some time.’

Bilbo laughed loudly. ‘That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard!’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? I’ve already got you.’ Thorin grinned at seeing Bilbo’s amusement. ‘I don’t need anymore lines.’

‘And it’s a good thing I didn’t need much seduction. You’re obviously horrible at it!’

Thorin’s hands were still grasping Bilbo’s waist. He felt them tighten around him, and then he was lifted off the ground and deposited gently on the desk behind him to the sound of parchment crinkling beneath his weight.

‘And am I also horrible at this?’ Thorin asked before leaning forward to capture Bilbo’s lips in a heated kiss, his beard rubbing Bilbo’s sensitive skin. One of his braids kept swinging back and forth, hitting Bilbo’s shoulder, as the hobbit grabbed the King’s neck to bring him closer, deepening their kiss.

He spread his legs and as Thorin moved in between them, his body touching Bilbo’s from lips to lap, a low moan suddenly escaped him.

Bilbo broke the kiss and checked the room over Thorin’s shoulder, though there was no one to see. ‘We can’t do this here. Even if Ori and Dwalin are far away, anyone could walk in at any time.’

Thorin leant his forehead against Bilbo’s. ‘So come back to my rooms. We’ll be alone there.’

Bilbo gave a small push to Thorin’s chest. ‘Right. Except for the guards outside, the maids lighting the fire in your fireplace, and the assistants knocking on your door to give you messages from the council.’ He hopped down from the desk, righting the parchments he had disturbed. ‘We have to wait until your courtship with Frodo is officially over.’

Thorin sighed. ‘I know you’re right. It’s just difficult: Seeing you in the great hall as you eat your lunch with Frodo, Fíli and Kíli. Hearing about you drinking tea with Balin in his office. Listening to your laughter as you pass me in the hallway while walking with that… miner.’ His lips pressed together. ‘Knowing that you’re so close, but I can’t talk to you like I want to, I can’t touch you, and I can’t kiss you. It’s almost worse than when I thought I had lost you to Bofur.’

‘Lost me?’

‘When he was hanging over you, visiting your chambers… Touching you freely. All the things I couldn’t do but so desperately wanted to do.’ Thorin grabbed Bilbo’s hand and pulled him closer.

Bilbo went willingly. ‘Bofur is a dear friend. Nothing more.’

‘Yes, but you’re mine.’ Thorin gathered Bilbo close, his nose nestling into the hobbit’s curls. ‘And I intend to keep you for myself.’

Bilbo let himself relax shortly into the King’s embrace. But he soon came to his senses and moved away once more. ‘You seem to keep forgetting about the concept of doors, and how they can very easily be opened from either side.’ 

Bilbo went back to his chair and sat down, pulling the book on hobbits closer to keep on reading. He kept his eyes fixed on the words on the page but could feel the heat of a large body coming to stand next to him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a broad hand resting on the table, as the King leaned over Bilbo, reading alongside him.

A moment passed quietly.

‘But this is just a book about hobbits!’ Thorin broke the silence. ‘You prefer reading some dry volume describing your own kind, rather than making the best use of our short time alone together?’

‘This is the _only_ book on hobbits in the great library of Erebor. And it’s full of myths, stories and outright lies.’ Bilbo turned the page. ‘I’m helping Ori by making corrections to it.’

Thorin bent his head and squinted at the writing. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Look here: It says that hobbits celebrate their coming-of-age at the age of 33. Well, that’s just preposterous. You should make a note to correct that.’ The King looked for a blank piece of parchment on the desk, not noticing the puzzled expression on Bilbo’s face.

‘No, that’s one of the few true facts in this. Hobbits do consider themselves to be matured when they reach their 33rd year.’

Thorin’s mouth opened and closed as he stared at Bilbo. ‘Really?’

Bilbo nodded. ‘Really.’

The King sat down next to Bilbo. ‘How odd.’ A thought seemed to suddenly occur to him ‘Then Frodo is…?’

’32 years old.’

Thorin breathed out heavily. ‘I can’t believe it. I’ve been courting a child half the age of my nephews. No wonder Frodo seemed so young to everyone who met him.’

Bilbo’s eyes widened. ‘You didn’t know how old he was?’

‘No. The letter from your Thain only said that he was one year away from his coming-of-age. Naturally my council and I assumed him to be at least 50, if not 60.’ Thorin shook his head in disbelief. ’32 years old…’

Bilbo narrowed his eyes in thought, feeling that some sort of realization was hanging around on the edge of his mind.

Suddenly it came to him.

‘That’s it!’ 

Thorin looked over at him. ‘What?’

‘How do you think the whole of Erebor would react to the news that an adult dwarf had been courting a 32-year-old?’ 

‘Disgusted, I should think.’

‘And a marriage between someone of 33 and someone of 157 would be…?’

A smile started to grow on Thorin’s face as he understood what Bilbo was saying. ‘Impossible. Out of the question.’

‘So we’ll let the news travel naturally around Erebor that Frodo is only 32, and that you had no knowledge whatsoever of this until now and - ,’

‘And the courtship will have to come to an end. My subjects would practically demand it of me.’ Thorin finished, smiling at Bilbo. ‘I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you.’

Bilbo returned the smile. ‘What? It wasn’t my dazzling good looks?’

‘That, too.’ Thorin pulled his chair closer to Bilbo and leant over for another kiss. 

Bilbo glanced quickly around the room before obliging the King in a quick peck on the lips before sitting back in his seat.

Thorin groaned in frustration. ‘The sooner we get this piece of news to spread, the better. I don’t think I can stand all this hiding and this distance between us much longer.’

‘Yes…’ Bilbo trailed off. ‘But before we do anything, we have to talk to Frodo first.’

Thorin nodded, squeezing Bilbo’s hand reassuringly.

 

X—X

 

‘I just don’t understand why, after avoiding me for weeks, he suddenly has this urgent need to meet with me!’

Frodo was slumped into a chair in their living room, his arms folded, as he observed how Bilbo fussed over the table laden with tea-pots, cups and cakes.

‘Maybe he wants to explain his absence.’ Bilbo said shortly while righting a pastry fork next to a plate.

‘As if I care.’ Frodo crossed his arms more tightly in front of him. ‘I was supposed to go to the market place with Fíli and Kíli today. I hope all this tea-drinking doesn’t take too long.’

‘Frodo.’ Bilbo looked over at his nephew, the expression on his face clearly disapproving.

Frodo sighed dramatically. ‘Fine.’ He stood up and went to sit at the table. He took a large bite out of a scone and chewed listlessly. 

Bilbo went to stand behind him and brushed a hand over his messy hair. ‘You won’t be rude to King Thorin, will you?’

‘I’ll be the very essence of good manners.’ Frodo mumbled with his mouth full, crumbs falling down the front of his shirt.

Before Bilbo could decide whether or not to do something about his nephew’s scruffy appearance, a knock came at the door.

He took a deep breath and went to open it, leaving Frodo sitting alone at the table. The sight of Thorin’s steady presence and familiar face calmed him down a bit. He had barely slept last night, dreading this meeting, though he hadn’t really been worried about Frodo’s heart being broken.

It was more that this conversation would be the first action to set things moving. What had been between Thorin and himself would soon be shared with the entirety of Erebor, and the news would spread throughout Middle-earth, even as far as to the Shire, to Bilbo’s friends and neighbours. And reactions would flow back to them, like waves crashing against a rock. Bilbo could only hope that he and Thorin would be steady and not be overwhelmed.

And right now, as he shared a small smile with the King behind the open door, and felt the dwarf’s hand brush deliberately against his own as Thorin went to join Frodo at the table. Right now, Bilbo was filled with a sense of purpose and a feeling of peace. 

They would go through this together.

He dithered shortly on whether to sit next to Thorin on one side of the table or next to Frodo on the other. In the end, he sank down into a chair by his nephew, gazing at the King in front of them.

After tea had been poured and small talk had been had, the trio descended into silence. It was finally broken when Thorin cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his seat.

‘Frodo…’ 

The lad had been using his fork to push crumbs around on his plate, but lifted his head when he heard his name being spoken.

The King licked his lips. ‘You’ve probably been wondering why I haven’t been to see you for a while.’

Frodo made a noncommittal hum but said nothing else.

Thorin glanced shortly at Bilbo before letting his gaze return to Frodo. ‘And it’s because I… I don’t think it’s a good idea to continue this courtship between the two of us. I mean, neither of us is going to make the other happy in the long run.’ The King paused. ‘So – So let’s not pretend anymore and part as friends. What do you say?’

The plate clinked as Frodo let the fork drop from his hand. Bilbo could feel a cold sweat starting at his neck and moving down his back. Maybe Frodo _did_ have some feelings for Thorin after all. But that didn’t make sense because –

‘When are we leaving?’ Frodo’s voice was cold and carefully measured, not betraying any emotions.

Bilbo blinked and turned to his nephew. ‘Leaving?’

‘Yes, because I have to tell Fíli and Kíli. They promised to take me outside to practice archery once the snow is completely gone.’ Frodo looked up at Thorin, his eyes burning with anger. ‘Kíli has even started on making a bow in my size. But I guess that won’t be happening now, since _his Majesty_ is throwing us back to the Shire!’ Frodo’s voice gradually rose until he was shouting into Thorin’s baffled face.

‘He’s not throwing us out, Frodo.’ Bilbo tried to grab his nephew’s hand, but Frodo kept his arms crossed.

‘Your uncle is right, Frodo.’ Thorin said. ‘You’re both welcome to stay as long as you like. In fact, that relates to something else we have to tell you.’ He gave Bilbo a pointed look, clearly expecting him to take over in talking to Frodo.

Frodo looked back and forth from the King to his uncle. ‘We?’

Bilbo took a deep breath. ‘Frodo… King Thorin and I have spent some time together and gotten to know each other, and we would like to start an official courtship.’

Frodo blinked and bowed his head, looking at the plate in front of him. Thorin and Bilbo shared a worried look, and the King made to speak when Frodo suddenly said,

‘So all those times you were chaperoning the two of us during our meetings. All those times you two were talking and laughing together. When I thought you were just distracting the King for my sake…You were really falling in love with each other?’

Bilbo looked over at Thorin with a small, cautious smile. ‘Yes.’

A loud laugh suddenly came from Frodo’s side of the table. ‘Good on you, Uncle Bilbo! I never thought I’d see the day. But when you finally fall, you fall in a big way!’

Frodo kept laughing while Thorin and Bilbo exchanged puzzled looks. 

‘It’s…It’s alright, then?’ Bilbo said.

‘Alright?’ Frodo tried to smother his giggles. ‘It’s more than alright! It’s hilarious! I can’t wait to tell Fíli and Kíli!’ He slumped back in his chair, his body still shaking from relieved laughter. ‘And now we don’t have to leave Erebor!’

Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle as well, as he felt the tension flooding away from his shoulders. He looked over at Thorin who was smiling as well. 

‘Well, I’m glad you approve.’ Thorin said. ‘But don’t tell anyone anything yet. We’ll have to first dissolve our courtship in the eyes of the public before I can begin courting your Uncle Bilbo.’

Frodo was still smiling. ‘Really? And how are you planning to do that?’

 

X—X

 

The market place was a lot less busy than the last time Bilbo had visited. Most of the stalls were shut for lack of merchandise, and the few that were still open had more empty shelves than full ones. 

He easily found his way to Dori’s tea stall, the merchant standing straighter as he noticed Bilbo’s determined stride heading his way.

‘Good morning, Master Baggins.’ Dori said, smiling.

‘Good morning, Master Dori.’ Bilbo said looking over the few metal tins left on the shelves behind the dwarf. ‘I am in urgent need of some more tea, I think.’

‘Well, you’ve come to the right place.’ He tapped a finger against his lower lip as he pondered his stock. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have any more of that tea from Harad you liked, but what about this one?’

Dori pulled down a small green tin and opened it to let Bilbo enjoy the smell.

The hobbit’s eyes widened. ‘Apples!’

Dori nodded. ‘Dried apples from the Shire, I’m told.’

‘Oh, how lovely. Could I have a small bag-full, please?’

As Dori expertly filled the bag with tea, not dropping a single leaf or apple slice, Bilbo pondered on how to bring this conversation onto the King’s courtship of Frodo without raising any suspicion. His thoughts were interrupted by Dori speaking to him.

‘I expect you’ll be looking forward to returning home once your nephew is married. Not many apple trees here in Erebor for a hobbit to enjoy.’

Well, Bilbo thought, here was something I could work with.

He sighed demonstratively and could see Dori’s eyes lighting up in interest.

‘Are you alright, Master Baggins?’

‘Yes, it’s just…’ Bilbo paused for effect. ‘I don’t think there’s going to be a marriage between King Thorin and Frodo after all.’

Dori’s hands tied a knot on the bag of tea while his eyes never left Bilbo. ‘Really?’ He tried to feign disinterest, but Bilbo could tell that this was the juiciest gossip the tea merchant had heard all year. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s Frodo’s age.’ Bilbo nodded sadly while finding his coin purse. ‘His Majesty thinks he’s too young.’

‘But surely he’ll reach his majority soon enough. Couldn’t the King just wait?’

‘Yes, Frodo will be 33 come September but -,’ Bilbo was interrupted by the sound of the lid of the tin slamming shut.

’33 years old?! But that’s – that’s unheard of!’

‘Yes, King Thorin reacted in a similar way when he found out. But that _is_ the age when we hobbits come of age.’

‘Oh, dear. That’s highly improper. And with the King’s age being what it is…’ Dori shook his head, seemingly thoroughly scandalised. ‘Well, it’s a good thing his Majesty found out before it was too late.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is. For both Frodo and the King. It’s fortunate that they didn’t waste too much time on an impossible courtship.’ Bilbo smiled lightly. ‘How much for the tea?’

As he left the stall, he glanced back over his shoulder and spied Dori already frantically waving over a fellow merchant, whispering urgently to the other dwarf. Soon another customer approached the stall, and she was drawn into the conversation as well.

Bilbo pocketed the small bag of tea and whistled a merry tune as he left the market place.

The plan was in motion.


	23. Chapter 23

‘Really?!’ Kíli laughed as he relaxed next to his brother on the sofa in Frodo’s and Bilbo’s sitting room.

‘Yes!’ Frodo nodded. ‘She took me by the hand and asked me very slowly and very clearly if I was lost and needed any help finding the way back to my rooms!’ He made his eyes bulge out for comic effect, clearly pleased when his friends threw their heads back and laughed loudly.

‘The rumours have finally spread!’ Fíli grinned. ‘Now the rest of Erebor knows what we have known all along: That Frodo Baggins is something of a simpleton and needs special care and attention, otherwise he keeps walking into walls and falling off ledges!’

‘That was _one_ time!’ Frodo threw a cushion from his chair in the general direction of the brothers, giggling when the force of the hit made Fíli’s moustache braids twirl next to his mouth.

‘And it’s not something to joke about.’ Bilbo added as he went to join the lads. He placed a hand on Frodo’s shoulder. ‘You weren’t rude to that dwarrowdam, were you?’

‘She was the one being rude!’ Frodo protested. ‘Treating me like some fauntling just released from his mother’s skirts.’

‘She was only trying to be helpful.’ Bilbo glanced at Fíli and Kíli. ‘You must remember that these dwarves seem to lack some basic understanding of the differences in maturation between the races.’

‘Not at all.’ Kíli puffed out his chest. ‘We understand that it takes a lot longer to create a masterpiece such as a dwarf. But you could knock up any old thing in – what was it? – 33 years.’

Frodo threw another cushion, but Kíli managed to duck in time.

‘Now, Kíli, we’re not being fair to the hobbits.’ Fíli said, still grinning. ‘They’re so small, after all. It can’t take them very long to reach their full height.’

‘Excuse me,’ Bilbo said with a brisk sniff. ‘But hobbits are just the right size, thank you very much. It’s the rest of you lot who are oversized.’ He nodded firmly though he couldn’t quite hide his amused smile at the whole situation.

The rate at which gossip travels Erebor was astounding, even compared to the Shire. Within a matter of days, whispers and curious looks followed Frodo and Bilbo where ever they went. And more than once a day, a dwarf would approach either him or Frodo, or both of them, expressing their sympathy about the broken courtship and trying to cheer the two hobbits up. Some had even sent them gifts in commiseration, but what Frodo was supposed to do with a stone mace almost as tall as he was, Bilbo would never know. At least the inhabitants of Erebor didn’t blame the hobbits for any subterfuge in this misguided trade agreement. 

Bilbo couldn’t be happier at how the news had been received. It seemed to be widely accepted that it had all been one big misunderstanding.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

When Bilbo opened it, he was pleasantly surprised to see Bofur waiting outside.

‘Bofur!’ Bilbo smiled at his friend. ‘Frodo and the princes are here as well. Won’t you join us?’

‘I actu’ly came by to ask if ye’d join me.’ Bofur looked over Bilbo’s shoulder at the lads lounging behind him. ‘Ye and Frodo. And their Highnesses, if they want.’ He looked back at Bilbo. ‘I heard that the trade caravan from Ered Luin has jus’ entered the mountain.’

‘The one passing through the Shire? The one we travelled with before the winter?’

‘The very same. Thought maybe they’d have news from back home for ye and the lad.’

Bilbo grinned as he went to grab his jacket. ‘Thank you for coming to get us, Bofur. We’ll all come with you. Right, boys?’

Frodo, Fíli and Kíli nodded and stood up to follow Bilbo and Bofur out of the door.

 

X—X

 

The large, covered carriages were already starting to be emptied by numerous dwarves when Bilbo and his company arrived in the large entrance hall. Ponies were relieved of their heavy load, while the recently arrived dwarves were stretching weary muscles after a long journey. 

Frodo and the princes quickly scampered away from the group, the noise and activity incredibly tempting to the young lads. Bilbo and Bofur followed them down the row of arrivals in a more measured pace.

The bustle surrounding him brought back a clear memory of his own arrival in Erebor all those months ago. How nervous he had been! He remembered gripping his favourite handkerchief – the one with the large green B – almost constantly from the moment the large doors had opened with a groan into the cold darkness of Erebor and only letting go when he was first summoned by Dwalin to meet the King. 

Bilbo shook his head in wonder. He hadn’t thought about that lost handkerchief for a long time. It was probably lying behind a dresser, gathering dust. Or it had been found in the hallway, picked up, and used as a scrap of fabric for mending a hole in a worn pair of trousers. 

‘That old rascal!’

Bilbo looked over at Bofur who was grinning at the sight of a dwarf with the most peculiar styled hair. He was hovering near one of the carriages filled with heavy-looking locked chests.

‘Who’s that?’ Bilbo asked.

‘Someone I knew when I was in Ered Luin. Nori’s the name.’

‘Nori?’ Bilbo looked back at the dwarf who was now fiddling with the covering of the carriage. ‘Of “Dori, Ori, and Nori”?’

‘The very same.’ If possible, Bofur’s grin grew wider, his eyes still on the strange-looking dwarf. ‘I suppose the coffers and pockets of Ered Luin are no longer a challenge to him, and he’s returned to his kin ‘ere in Erebor.’

Bilbo started to understand what sort of dwarf this Nori was. ‘And he’s a friend of yours?’

‘Aye, one of the few he’s able to keep.’ He took one step in the direction of Nori. ‘I suppose it’s because I never have anything valuable for him to steal!’

Bilbo glanced back and forth between Bofur and Nori before he nodded in understanding. ‘Well, go and greet your friend. I’ll see if I can find where the lads have run off to.’

Bofur left him with a wave, and Bilbo could hear loud guffaws of laughter and backslapping coming behind him as the two friends met up after a long separation.

As Bilbo proceeded along the train of ponies and carriages, he stopped a couple of the travelling merchants, hoping to hear any news they had from passing through the Shire. The first could only tell that they had apparently had a very mild winter, and the second reported that his cousin Lobelia Sackville-Baggins were in rude health. Or at least she had been when haggling fiercely about the price of blue flowerpot.

‘In rude health?’ Bilbo smiled lightly at the dwarf’s apt choice of phrase. ‘Thank you for telling me, Master dwarf.’

His attention was attracted by something green and leafy sticking out of the flap from one of the carriages. As he got closer, he started to recognise the shape of the leaves.

He lifted the cloth to reveal a small apple tree planted in soil contained within a close-woven sack. Bilbo fingered the soft leaves, marvelling at the delicate green colour and the small veins he could spy spreading out beneath the surface. This must have been grown and recently kept in a greenhouse, Bilbo thought. The smell of moist, fertile soil made him close his eyes and take a deep breath. This was something he had definitely missed.

‘Excuse me, Master Hobbit.’ A dwarf shouldered him aside and grabbed the small tree, pulling it roughly from the carriage. Other dwarves, loaded with heavy sacks on their shoulders, followed him away from the entrance hall.

In all the time he had spent in Erebor, Bilbo still hadn’t seen a single tree, let alone an apple tree, in any part of the mountain. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the strange sight, and the delicate green leaves seemed to wave forlornly at Bilbo as the plant was taken away from him.

He made a quick decision, and Bilbo’s nimble feet soon overtook the group of dwarves. He slowed down to walk alongside their leader and the apple tree.

‘Is that your tree?’ He said as he tried to smile winningly. Maybe he had found a fellow gardener among these dwarves.

‘No.’ The dwarf shifted the sack of soil in his arms.

‘So you’re taking it to someone else?’

‘Yes.’

Bilbo rolled his eyes and skipped slightly to keep pace with the longer stride of the dwarf. The group came to a small stairway, forcing them to form a single file. Bilbo’s polite manners left him bringing up the rear. 

Glimpses of sunlight reached him from behind the wall of dwarves and sacks, and when he reached the top step he stopped to marvel at the sight before him.

It was a wide terrace on the south side of the mountain, looking out over the expanse of water heading towards Lake-town.

Around him the dwarves dropped their heavy loads on the ground, wiped their foreheads on their sleeves and turned around to leave. The small apple tree almost tilted to the ground before Bilbo gently grabbed hold of the thin trunk.

‘Wait. Please.’ Bilbo called out to the leader before he left. 

The dwarf turned around and raised a single eyebrow at the small hobbit.

‘This is a beautiful place.’ Bilbo gestured all around him. ‘But if you leave the apple tree in that small sack for much longer without any care, I’m sure it will die.’

‘Not my problem.’ The dwarf sniffed as he wiped his hands down the front of his shirt.

Bilbo pressed his lips together. ‘Then just go.’ 

The other shrugged his shoulders and moved leisurely down the stairs.

Bilbo looked around him. The terrace was quite sparse. No furniture or decoration but for some large, deep stone containers packed away in a corner near the stairway.

He made up his mind with a firm nod. If the person, who had ordered this tree, had a problem with him keeping it alive, well, too bad! Bilbo Baggins was not the sort of hobbit to stand by while something green withered away.

Though his strength was nothing compared to a dwarf’s, he was still able to slowly heave one of the stone pots into a ray of sunshine. Then he carefully sat down the sack within, untied the string and pulled the cloth away. As the soil spread out, the small roots of the tree became exposed. Well, this wouldn’t do at all.

Bilbo sighed and looked around. His eyes fell on the closest sack. Maybe…

He made quick work of the knotted string, and again his nose was met with the choicest, most fertile soil the Shire had to offer. It must have come from Hamfast Gamgee’s garden. The smell of it reminded him of rainy days in the fall and blooming days in the spring. This was perfect for keeping a struggling apple tree alive.

He dragged the sack closer and filled the container, packing in the soil around the roots and the stem. Then he took a look at the crown of the tree. Most of it still retained a healthy green colour, but he would have the prune some dead branches and leaves to make the plant stronger. The leaves he could take care of with his hands, but he needed something sharper for the branches. Maybe he could borrow Frodo’s wood-carving knife. And he had to find some efficient way of getting water up here…

‘It was supposed to be a surprise.’

Bilbo whirled around to face Thorin. The King was standing with his arms folded at the top of the stairs, his lips curled into a soft smile.

‘What was?’ Bilbo blinked owlishly, his mind still busy calculating how many buckets of water he needed to get up here.

‘All this.’ Thorin spread out his arms to encompass the terrace as he came to stand next to Bilbo. ‘And the tree as well.’

Bilbo finally caught on. ‘You mean…’ He looked up at Thorin, his mouth falling open. ‘For me?’

Thorin brushed a hand over Bilbo’s cheek and murmured, ‘You’ve told me how much you miss your garden.’ 

Bilbo’s mind was still whirring. ‘You’ve dug up my garden?!’

Thorin chuckled and drew him into a warm embrace. ‘No, my idiot hobbit.’ He said softly. ‘I’ve brought you a new one here in Erebor.’ He lifted Bilbo’s chin, his blue eyes gleaming fondly. ‘Here with me.’

Bilbo blinked rapidly but his eyes still shone with emotion. ‘Thank you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘That is… That is the finest present anyone has ever given me.’ He squeezed his arms tighter around Thorin’s middle, hoping for some way to convey what he was feeling right now.

‘Don’t thank me.’ Thorin whispered, his voice caressing Bilbo’s ears. ‘It was mostly born out of a selfish need to keep you close.’

Bilbo stretched to peck a small kiss on Thorin’s lips. ‘It’s still wonderful.’ He sniffed and looked around the terrace. ‘And there’s soil in all the sacks?’

Thorin nodded. ‘Yes, the finest in the Shire, I’m told.’

Bilbo looked back at him. ‘Oh? Did you buy it from Hamfast Gamgee?’

Thorin wrinkled his brow. ‘Who? No, I made my arrangements with the Thain. He was the only hobbit I knew how to contact via raven.’

A memory of a croaky voice suddenly entered Bilbo’s mind, and the words ‘It’s a deal’ floated up from somewhere in the past. He was starting to understand.

‘But how did you have time to plan all this? The trade caravan must have passed through the Shire at least a month ago.’

‘The idea first came to me that night at Dís’ table when you told us that you planned to leave Erebor after Frodo and I were married. And I knew I had to do something to keep you here. Even if you couldn’t – wouldn’t – be mine, I had to somehow keep you close.’

Bilbo stepped away from the tight embrace. ‘If you had married Frodo, I wouldn’t have stayed. Not for all the gardens of Rivendell and the Shire combined.’

Thorin reached out a hand to grab Bilbo’s smaller one. ‘And that’s what I discovered that morning when you came to me in my rooms. When you whispered encouragement, bandaged my wounds, cleaned my braid.’ Thorin stepped close again. ‘When you kissed me for the first time. That’s when I knew for certain.’

Bilbo let his thumb brush back and forth over Thorin’s knuckles. ‘Knew what?’

‘That I could never be content in a love-less marriage. Not after meeting you, Bilbo Baggins. Not when I knew that I loved you and had started to suspect that you might love me, too.’ Thorin lifted Bilbo’s hand, brushing a kiss over the back of it. ‘So I started sending messages to the Shire with my plans. And the motivation for having a garden in Erebor changed to something else.’

Bilbo licked his lips and looked up at Thorin. ‘Changed to what?’

‘A courtship gift.’

Bilbo breathed out slowly in understanding before he gripped the back of Thorin’s neck, pulling the dwarf down as he stood on tip-toe. He kissed him slowly, still delighting in the feel of a beard scratching his cheeks. He could feel strong arms encircling him once more, and he was pulled into a deeper kiss.

They parted with a breathless chuckle, Bilbo leaning against Thorin’s chest.

‘But let it be the only gift of our courtship.’ Bilbo said. ‘I think I’ve had my fill of courting and besides…’ He looked up at Thorin with mischievous eyes. ‘I already suspect that we’re both well and truly caught.’

Thorin laughed. ‘Yes, indeed.’

Bilbo disentangled himself from their embrace and turned to take note of the amount of soil and room on the terrace. He was already coming up with ideas for this garden and how to make the best use of the space given to him.

‘But you’ll have to leave me in peace now.’ He said, waving a distracted hand at the King. ‘I’ll have much work to do, planning this garden and finding out which seeds are sold in Dale.’

‘There’s no rush with that last part.’ Thorin said as he parted the folds of his surcoat, pulling out a small, flat parcel. ‘I asked the Thain which plants you would prefer, and he sent me a selection of seed packets.’ He handed the cloth-bound item to Bilbo, who wasted no time in untying the tightly-knotted string and spreading out the small packets on the ground. He knelt in front of them.

‘Carrots, potatoes, tomatoes – Oh, I don’t know if they’ll grow here – daisies, lavender, and –,’ Bilbo stopped when he reached a small folded note. It held the stamp of the Thain.

‘There’s a letter here.’ He looked up at Thorin.

‘Really?’ The King frowned as he squatted next to Bilbo. ‘Read it, then.’

Bilbo broke the seal and started to read the neat lettering out loud.

 

_Bilbo Baggins,_

_I once considered the son of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins to be one of the brightest young hobbits in Hobbiton, if not in the whole of the Shire. You had a good mixture of your father’s steady sensibility and your mother’s quick wit. And you were brought up with good manners and respect for your elders._

_So you can understand my surprise when King Thorin starts ordering all the necessary ingredients to set up a garden for you in Erebor. But since I have received no letter from you, telling me of a change in plans regarding the alliance between the Shire and Erebor, I must draw my own conclusions._

_Either you are too slow-witted to realise that dwarf’s obvious amorous intentions towards yourself. (Do you _know_ how many messages he’s sent me, making sure everything about this garden was completely perfect for “Master Baggins”?)  
Or you _did_ know about your apparently forthcoming marriage to the King of Erebor but have completely forgotten the proper protocol regarding your Thain and an old friend of your parents. I was the first person you should have told, idiot boy!_

_I confess I do not know if I prefer you to be mostly dense or mostly rude. But taken together they do form some of the symptoms of a common condition: Being in love. And that is joyous news, indeed._

_So I congratulate you, my lad. It’s about time._

_Fortinbras Took_

_P.S. Samwise Gamgee caught Lobelia trying to run off with your best spoons yesterday. You could maybe send Frodo back to keep an eye on Bag End?_

_P.P.S. Tell your dwarf not to send anymore of those talking ravens. They gave my wife an awful fright the last time. What’s wrong with a nice carrier pigeon?_

 

Bilbo grinned as he raised his head to look at Thorin. ‘I can’t believe it…’

‘Obviously you know him better than I do,’ Thorin said, ‘but that sounded like…’

‘An acceptance. And a blessing.’ Bilbo finished.

‘Yes.’

‘So now there’s nothing standing in our way.’ Bilbo was still grinning at Thorin.

‘Except…’ Thorin hesitated. ‘You’re not 33 years old as well, are you?’ He smiled teasingly at his hobbit.

Bilbo giggled, too happy to do anything else. ‘No, I’m 55 years old.’ He shuffled forward and leant his forehead on Thorin’s shoulder. ‘Too young?’

Thorin nuzzled into Bilbo’s curls. ‘A bit on the young side.’ He kissed Bilbo’s temple. ‘But that just means I get to keep you for a lot longer.’

Bilbo kissed the side of Thorin’s neck in response. ‘Who should we tell first?’

‘You mean besides Frodo, Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin and Dís?’

‘Lady Dís knows about us already?’ Bilbo tilted his head to look up at Thorin.

Thorin shook his head and chuckled. ‘I think she knew about it before I did. But she’s always been the shrewdest of the family.’

‘So that’s one to cross off the list. Balin must know, of course. Your whole council, in fact. And I would dearly love to tell Ori myself and -,’

‘You hobbits and your talking.’ Thorin interrupted him to sit back on his heels. His right hand began to brush through Bilbo’s curls, testing their length and strength. ‘I know of a much simpler and quicker way.’

Bilbo pushed his head into Thorin’s caressing hand. ‘Yes?’

‘I would like to put the courtship braid of the line of Durin into your hair. That will tell everybody what our intentions are.’ He pulled slightly on one strand of hair. ‘Tell them that you’re mine.’

Sometimes these dwarves did have the right sort of idea. It would be better to be forthright and clear. Bilbo smiled and nodded. ‘Do it.’

‘I can’t do it now. I need some clasp or bead to hold it together. Ideally I would forge a special one with symbols connected to both of us but that takes planning and-,’

‘Wait.’ Bilbo held up a finger to stop Thorin’s musings on metalwork while his other hand dug down into his jacket pocket. ‘Ah, here it is.’ He held up the small object which he had kept since that morning in Thorin’s rooms.

‘But that’s my bead.’ Thorin took it from Bilbo’s outstretched hand. ‘It’s part of a pair. I thought I had lost it.’ His lips quirked teasingly as he looked at Bilbo. ‘Are you a burglar as well as a gentlehobbit?’

‘Burglar?! I never!’ Bilbo made a show of scoffing in contempt. ‘I merely put it in my pocket for safe-keeping while I was cleaning your braid that morning after your battle with the orcs. If anything you should _thank_ me for keeping it safe.’

‘Thank you, Master Baggins.’ Thorin stood up and made an exaggerated formal bow. His hand came up to his chest, and he hesitated before continuing. ‘And since we’re exchanging stolen goods, I hope you will be grateful to me for keeping this safe.’ His hand went into his tunic, pulled out a small square of cloth and gave it to Bilbo who was now standing as well. His tone of voice was deliberately light, but Bilbo could spot worried lines around his eyes.

The linen had greyed since Bilbo had last seen it, and some of the stitching in the border had frayed a bit, but he would recognise it anywhere. How often had he run it through his fingers in deep thought? How often had he folded it again and again in agitation? How often had he gazed at that green B and imagined the round door of Bag End?

Bilbo couldn’t find the words to say anything so Thorin kept talking.

‘You left it, you know? In my sister’s room after we had all met for tea. I’m ashamed to say it now, but back then I was so convinced that you and Bofur were together, and the thought that I would never know you like that, that you might leave Erebor with your miner… It almost drove me mad with jealousy. So I took your handkerchief. It was _something_ when I thought that I could have nothing else of you.’ He looked into Bilbo’s eyes, obviously hoping to find some understanding before continuing. ‘I’ve carried it with me since then, taking it out at night to look at and touch before falling asleep. It was the last thing I held in my hands before going into battle with the orcs at Tanner’s Cave.’

Bilbo was still silent, his fingers slowly brushing over the embroidered B.

‘But I knew how much it meant to you.’ Thorin said. ‘I knew it was your link to your family, your home, but I was selfish, and if I couldn’t have you, the handkerchief was closest possible thing.’ His voice started to waver, and he tried to catch Bilbo’s gaze. ‘Will you forgive me?’

Bilbo’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke. ‘You could have washed it.’

Thorin shook his head slightly. ‘Sorry?’

‘If you were going to keep it under your tunic, you could have at least washed it before returning it.’ Bilbo looked up, a small smile on his face. ‘I mean, I love you, of course, but several months’ worth of accumulated dwarf sweat is enough to make anybody feel faint.’ He quirked one eyebrow at Thorin. ‘But I guess I should be glad you didn’t use it to mop up orc’s blood after the battle.’

‘Blasted hobbit!’ Thorin laughed. ‘I should have you punished for nearly giving your King and future husband a heart attack. I thought I had committed some terrible crime against Shire manners by pilfering your handkerchief.’

‘So you admit to stealing it?’ Bilbo said triumphantly, gesturing with the handkerchief in one hand. ‘I would never have left this behind. You must have taken it from my jacket.’

‘Only if you’ll admit to deliberately pocketing my bead.’ Thorin smirked while holding up the small clasp between two fingers. 

‘Never.’ Bilbo smiled. ‘But I’ll offer you a deal: I’ll allow you to keep that handkerchief if you’ll braid my hair with that bead.’ He placed the small square of linen in the palm of Thorin’s hand, then turned it over and kissed the knuckles one by one. He looked up into Thorin’s eyes. ‘I wouldn’t want any other bead but the one you wore when I first kissed you.’

Thorin smiled. ‘Turn around.’

Bilbo eagerly followed orders and stood looking out over the lake as he felt broad fingers brushing through his hair. It had gotten much longer since he had come to Erebor. Back in the Shire he had entrusted the cutting of his hair to Bell Gamgee in exchange for looking after the Gamgee brood while their parents spent an evening at The Green Dragon. But barbers were obviously a rare breed among the dwarven race. So he had left it alone.

‘I think I’ll put it above your right ear. There are some quite long strands here, and it’s not as curly as it is at the back of your head.’

‘Whatever you think is right.’ Bilbo sighed, letting his eyes take in the splendour of the wide lake, while Thorin’s hands carefully separated and brought together his hair in an intricate design.

Small thrills went down his spine every time the tip of his ear was grazed during Thorin’s work. Bilbo leaned back contently against Thorin’s chest, lulled by the dwarf’s gentle touches.

‘There.’ Thorin said. ‘It’s done.’

When he brought his hand up to touch, he was surprised by what a small, neat thing it was. It ran from the top of his ear to the bottom where it tapered off into the nape of his neck. The braiding felt tight and simple.

Bilbo turned around to look at Thorin. ‘And now everyone will know?’

Thorin nodded, his eyes searching Bilbo’s face. ‘Everyone will know.’ 

‘Good.’ Bilbo smiled and took Thorin’s hand. ‘Then let’s go back into the mountain.’


	24. Epilogue

The spring sun was rising earlier and earlier every day, and right now its rays were making a certain hobbit feel very uncomfortable.

‘Ugh.’ Bilbo pushed uselessly on the broad shoulders lying across his chest. ‘It’s getting much too warm to wake up covered by a dwarf blanket.’

‘Mmhh.’ Thorin’s eyes were still closed, his arms tightening around his bed companion.

‘Are you even listening to me?’ Bilbo poked an insistent finger at Thorin’s side.

‘Mhhm.’ Thorin nuzzled closer to Bilbo’s chest.

Bilbo resigned himself to being stuck for the time being and laid back his head to stare at the ceiling of Thorin’s bedroom, trying to find shapes in the texture of the stone above him. He almost found the rough outline of a horse the other morning. His eyes swooped along textures, following lines in the rock in the hope of finding a picture to divert him while he was stuck under this dwarf king.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Thorin turning his head quickly and whipping most of his hair into Bilbo’s face.

Bilbo sighed. ‘Thorin.’

No answer.

‘Thorin, your hair is in my mouth.’ He blew out strong puffs of air, hoping to dislodge the long strands. ‘And it smells of that bitter pipe-weed you and Dwalin smoked last night.’

Still no answer.

Right. Bilbo started to wriggle his body towards the head of the bed until he was sitting upright against the headboard with his legs still caught in Thorin’s embrace. Bilbo pursed his lips in thought. Well, at least he was free from being suffocated by hair.

He had never considered himself to be a particularly limber hobbit, but once he had one of his knees against his chest, it was easy to have the other one join it. And his legs were free! He turned and made to scoot off the pillow, his feet almost touching the floor, when two arms caught him around the waist, and he sagged against a broad chest.

‘’s still early,’ a low, sleepy voice grumbled.

‘The sun’s up,’ Bilbo countered.

‘No, it isn’t.’

Bilbo patted one of the hands clasped around his belly. ‘I guess it’s a King’s prerogative to deny reality as much as he wants, but sun or no sun, _I’m_ up and I have to get back to my own rooms before the hallways get too crowded. You go back to sleep.’

‘Can’t sleep without you,’ Thorin breathed into Bilbo’s neck.

‘Then get up and see me to the door.’ Bilbo’s head arched to the side, making room for sleepy kisses.

The arms around his waist tightened. ‘I can think of something much more fun,’ Thorin said, pulling him back to lie flat on the bed and turned to hover over his hobbit.

Bilbo grinned up at Thorin. ‘Good morning, your Majesty.’

‘Good morning, Master Baggins.’ Thorin smiled before leaning down to press more leisurely kisses to Bilbo’s chest.

Bilbo chuckled as he brushed a hand through Thorin’s sleep-rumpled hair. ‘This is your plan for keeping me here? Tickling me into submission?’

Thorin glanced up at Bilbo’s face. ‘It’s working, isn’t it?’

‘Only because I’m obliging my King – Oh!’ Bilbo gasped as Thorin mouthed over a particularly sensitive spot.

Thorin smirked against Bilbo’s skin. ‘Yes, I remember how _obliging_ you were last night.’ He continued peppering lazy kisses on Bilbo’s chest and belly.

Bilbo settled against the bed. He picked up a strand of the King’s hair and rubbed it between his fingers. He watched how the gray mingling among the black caught the morning light. It looked almost silver next to Bilbo’s tan hands. His skin, which had paled from a winter spent mostly inside a dark mountain, had regained its former brownish hue from his continued work in his garden. His hands were now coloured by freshly-dug soil, ripening berries and the sun beaming down on his terrace. There were cuts on his right hand from planting a thorny bush. He didn’t remember the name of the plant, but he had bought it from that merchant in Dale because of its lovely red flowers.

Bilbo let his head drop back and closed his eyes. ‘You know I have to go soon.’ He sighed, his hand coming to rest on Thorin’s shoulder.

‘I know,’ Thorin grumbled as he laid his cheek on Bilbo’s soft stomach. ‘And I still think you’re being silly. Everyone already knows that we’re courting. And it wouldn’t be the first time a King shared his bed with his future consort. The stories I could tell you about my great-great-grandfather Náin –,’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Bilbo interrupted. ‘I think I’ve already heard most of them from Dís.’

‘Even the one about that time in Lake-town with the troupe of travelling jugglers?’ Thorin leant on his elbows over Bilbo’s body, looking into his eyes with a smirk.

‘In excruciating detail.’ Bilbo brushed a thumb over Thorin’s cheek. ‘But I’m not like that. Please allow me to keep a shred of propriety in the eyes of your subjects.’

‘Then marry me.’ Thorin bowed his head to brush his lips against Bilbo’s mouth.

Bilbo giggled while trying to return the kiss, his lips shaking under Thorin’s. ‘You must be feeling all of your many years today, my aging dwarf. I’ve already said yes, remember?’ 

‘No, I meant – Today. Marry me today.’ Thorin looked into Bilbo’s eyes. ‘We’ll steal away to Dale, find the first person who looks like they can read, and get them to say the words of the ceremony. And then I can keep you in my bed as long as I want.’ He bent his head and caught Bilbo’s lips again, settling into a deep kiss.

Bilbo finished the kiss as slowly as it had begun. ‘As much as I would love to,’ He pecked shortly at Thorin’s lips. ‘We can’t.’ Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the dwarf. ‘You don’t realise how much the inhabitants of Erebor, yes, even Dale and Lake-town, are looking forward to a royal wedding. The pageantry, the celebration, the _food_ …’ He gestured vaguely with one hand. ‘And they’ve been waiting a _long_ time for your wedding, not to forget.’

Thorin smirked. ‘Are you sure it’s just my subjects who are excited about the food preparations? I remember a certain hobbit spending a whole evening waxing poetically about a certain Shire cheese your Thain had promised to have ready in time for our wedding.’

Bilbo nodded firmly. ‘See? That’s another argument for waiting and doing this properly. Because that cheese won’t be fully matured for _at least_ another six months. And you wouldn’t want to start our marriage with a disappointing wedge of cheese, would you?’ He smirked up at his dwarf.

Thorin rolled over to lie on his back next to Bilbo on the wide bed, his fingers brushing against Bilbo’s. ‘Six more months. At least.’ He blew out a heavy breath. ‘I’ll need to get started on your Consort’s Crown.’

Bilbo patted Thorin’s hand, sat up, and scooted to the edge of the bed. ‘Oh, I don’t need to have one made for me.’ He looked back at the dwarf as he stood up and stretched his arms above his head with a groan. ‘Surely there’s one in the treasury we can use?’

Thorin sat up, leaning back on his hands. His gaze followed Bilbo around the room as the hobbit began to pick up his strewn clothes from the night before. ‘There’s none that would fit you. Not unless you want to wear it as a necklace.’

‘I see. Never underestimate the thickness of dwarven skulls…,’ Bilbo muttered to himself as he tried to find the right way up on his discarded shirt before pulling it over his shoulders.

‘And ideally the crown should reflect something of the wearer’s personality.’ Thorin paused while watching Bilbo trying to untangle the suspenders from his trousers as he walked out of the open bedroom door. Thorin spoke louder, his voice following Bilbo into the sitting room. ‘So I was planning to do it in the shape of a large, golden cheese wheel decorated with cranberries made out of rubies. What do you think?’

Bilbo found his coat underneath Thorin’s surcoat in a pile near the door which led out into the hallway. He smiled as he remembered how they had barely gotten it closed before the clothes started hitting the floor. Thankfully all his buttons had survived that ordeal.

He suddenly noticed the silence coming from the bedroom behind him. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening,’ he called over his shoulder as he pulled on his coat. ‘What were you saying about the crown?’

‘Nothing important.’ The deep voice was much closer than he had expected, and Bilbo turned to the sight of a bare chest blocking his view of the bedroom. He looked up at Thorin.

‘I was just musing on the materials. What do you think of gold and rubies?’ Thorin smiled innocently down at him.

‘Sounds lovely.’ Bilbo blinked, still feeling like he had missed something. ‘Whatever you think is fitting for a Consort’s Crown.’

Thorin’s lips quirked with amusement. ‘Oh, I have some definite plans.’

Bilbo nodded distractedly as he smoothed down his lapels and brushed a hand through his hair. It would have to do until he returned to his own rooms and his own comb. To keep up appearances, he kept nothing whatsoever in Thorin’s rooms, not even a spare handkerchief, though he had spent every night there for the last few months. He knew firsthand how much the chambermaids of Erebor liked to gossip, and preferred not to give them even the smallest hint of his and Thorin’s nightly activities.

‘I really do have to go now.’ He smiled apologetically up at the dwarf.

Thorin crossed his arms in front of his chest. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

Bilbo’s patted his jacket pockets, felt at his neck for his neckerchief and was about to do a thorough search of the rooms, when he felt broad fingers freeing the clasp from behind his ear and then running gently through the strands of hair still held loosely together in a quickly unravelling braid.

‘Can’t have you running through the halls in such a state.’ Thorin murmured as he set to work, assembling the braid of Durin once more.

Bilbo smiled. ‘You know, one of these days you’re going to have to teach me to do that myself.’

‘Why?’ Thorin murmured close to his ear as Bilbo felt a slight pull at his scalp. He had grown to love the comforting tightness of the braid running behind his ear and the end of it softly brushing along his neck as he walked through the mountain. It felt familiar. It felt like it had always been there.

‘Because it apparently needs redoing every morning. And I might not always have a great king of dwarves close at hand to do it for me.’

‘I don’t think that will ever be a problem,’ Thorin said as he finished the braid and clasped it with his bead. ‘And besides, I like doing it.’

Bilbo turned around. ‘And what about you?’ He raised his eyebrows, a glint in his eyes. ‘Do I ever get to braid something into your hair?’

Thorin folded his hands behind Bilbo’s back and pulled him into a loose embrace. ‘And how do hobbits show their statement of intent? Maybe using something from your garden?’ he said as he pursed his lips in exaggerated speculation. ‘Will I wake up one morning with an entire rose bush braided into my hair?’

‘Maybe you will.’ Bilbo smoothed down Thorin’s right braid, making it lie flat against his chest. ‘It would certainly help you in your future dealings with the wood elves. Common interests always help in diplomatic matters.’

‘Please don’t remind me.’

‘If you’d only let me participate in those meetings, then they’d surely run a lot smoother.’

‘Not after you’d met the chief tree-shagger. Don’t forget: I know your temper.’

‘He can’t be that bad.’

‘He’s the most pompous arse I’ve ever met. Thinks the world revolves around him just because he wears a ridiculous-looking crown.’

Bilbo tapped his lips and narrowed his eyes. ‘Now, who does that remind me of?’

Thorin looked up at the ceiling, lifting his hands in supplication. ‘Mahal save me from insolent hobbits.’

Bilbo ducked out from under his arms and headed once more for the door. ‘So I’m finally free to go then?’

Thorin crossed his arms across his chest. ‘I suppose so. I’ll see you soon, anyway.’

‘If you call luncheon “soon”, which I do not when I have to forgo _both_ second breakfast _and_ elevenses until then.’

‘What? Luncheon - ?’ Thorin stopped himself as his eyes widened with pleasure. ‘Oh, Bilbo.’ His lips made the most annoying twitch. ‘Don’t tell me I’ve remembered something you’ve forgotten?’

Bilbo halted with his hand on the door handle. ‘What? What have I forgotten?’ He turned around and mirrored Thorin’s crossed arms. ‘Tell me.’

‘Oh, just the simple matter of our nephews leaving for the Shire after breakfast.’

Bilbo frowned. ‘That’s not today. The trade caravan doesn’t leave until after the next full moon.’

‘Which was last night.’

‘No, but - ,’ Bilbo’s eyes suddenly widened comically, making Thorin chuckle at the sight.

‘Now I _really_ have to go! If I know Frodo right, he won’t even have finished packing by now!’ Bilbo opened the door and paused.

Within the moment of a breath, he was next to Thorin again, standing on tip-toe to deposit a quick kiss on the King’s lips and then he was out the door, hurrying down the empty hallway to the sound of Thorin’s fond laughter following his steps.

 

X—X

 

Even as Bilbo helped his nephew with strapping on the final piece of luggage onto Frodo’s sturdy pony, he was still throwing his thoughts back to the rooms they had shared for the last months. He was certain that he would return to them to find the key to Bag End lying on Frodo’s unmade bed next to the lad’s packed lunch and his good overcoat.

‘You _are_ sure that you’ve remembered everything?’

‘ _Yes_ , Uncle Bilbo.’ Frodo rolled his eyes. ‘That’s the third time you’ve asked me this morning.’

‘Well, you can never be too certain,’ Bilbo said as he ran his hands over the leather straps, making sure that they weren’t digging into the pony’s middle.

‘ _You_ can,’ Frodo said and Bilbo looked up to see the fond smile being directed at him from his nephew.

Frodo stepped around his pony to stand near his uncle. ‘I’m going to miss you, Uncle Bilbo.’ The morning light reflected off Frodo’s blue eyes, making them glisten.

‘Oh, I doubt that very much,’ Bilbo said as he stroked a hand over the soft nose of the pony. ‘You won’t miss me forcing my dreadful mutton stew on you or chiding you for dragging dirt into our home.’ 

‘But I _will_ miss our evenings sitting outside Bag End where you taught me how to spot the Star of Eärendil and all the constellations surrounding it. I don’t think I’ll ever look at that star again without thinking of you.’ Frodo’s smile turned into a grin. ‘And I’ll also miss your strawberry tarts, of course!’

Bilbo smiled down at the ground as he remembered the years they had had together in Bag End. He knew there had been moments where he hadn’t been sure that he could do it, could raise an orphaned child. There had been nights where he’d laid awake, doubting if he had done the right thing, adopting Frodo. And days where he’d come very close to sending him away to some other relations, hoping they could give the boy a better life than some fussy bachelor uncle could offer him. But, looking at the hobbit his nephew had become, those memories became fainter still, and all that remained was a shared life in some kind of eternal summer in the Shire.

He blinked rapidly as he looked back up at Frodo. ‘You will have it all to yourself now. You’ll be the new Master Baggins of Bag End,’ He finished with an important tone of voice and a grave nod of the head.

Frodo giggled. ‘You make it sound like a threat! And I won’t have it all to myself. I’ll have my two best friends to share it with.’

He gestured at Fíli and Kíli standing some way away, and Bilbo looked over at the two lads talking quietly with their mother and uncle. Thorin had an arm close around Kíli’s shoulders while Dís had grabbed onto her oldest son’s hand, smoothing her own hand over it again and again. Bilbo remembered her telling him, that this would be the first time she would be away from her sons for such a long while. The Lady had asked him many questions about the Shire and every shred of information seemed to smooth her wrinkled brow and calm her fidgeting hands. Bilbo had been glad to do what he could to reassure her of the safety of his home country.

He averted his eyes away from the private moment and looked back at his nephew. ‘I don’t know if the fact that those two are coming along with you is meant to comfort me or alarm me.’

Frodo shook his head. ‘They’re not as bad as all that, Uncle Bilbo.’ He smiled as he looked over at the two lads. ‘They’re… They’re great.’

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at Frodo’s besotted look. Had he always looked at his friends like that? Odd ideas started to form in his head. ‘Frodo, is there something-?’

‘What?’ Frodo looked back at him, his face open and guileless.

Bilbo scrutinized his nephew’s expression before looking back at the two princes. Perhaps he had imagined it. With a shrug of his shoulders, he dispelled those curious ideas from his head.

‘Well, if the three of you are going to catch up with the trade caravan, you’d better get into your saddle.’

Frodo nodded slowly as he looked at his uncle. Suddenly he moved forward and grabbed hold of Bilbo, pulling him into a firm hug.

Bilbo closed his eyes, enjoying this last moment with his nephew. As his cheek brushed against Frodo’s chin, it suddenly struck Bilbo that at some point Frodo must have outgrown him by at least one inch, if not two. He pulled back and looked up at his nephew, truly feeling the difference for the first time.

Frodo still kept hold of Bilbo’s arms. ‘Goodbye, Uncle Bilbo.’

Bilbo smiled as he reached up a hand to stroke Frodo’s cheek. He had often done that when his nephew had been a young boy. ‘Goodbye, lad. Take care of yourself.’

Fíli and Kíli had mounted their ponies and were now bringing them close to the two hobbits, their mother and uncle following behind them. As soon as Thorin reached Bilbo, he stood close to him, his hand finding its customary position on Bilbo’s back.

He lowered his head to the side, his mouth close to Bilbo’s ear. ‘Are you alright?’

Bilbo nodded quickly with a small smile before returning his gaze to the boys.

‘Better get on your pony, Frodo,’ Kíli said. ‘You promised us a Midsummer’s Eve party when we reached the Shire but first there are the months of bum-aching riding to get through.’

‘And you’re already late,’ Dís said. ‘You definitely won’t catch the trade caravan before they stop for nightfall.’

‘That sounds like a challenge.’ Fíli grinned. ‘Want to make a wager on that, dear mother?’

‘Ohhh,’ Thorin blew out a low-sounding breath. ‘You boys should learn what I learnt a long time ago: Never make a wager with your mother. She always wins, impossible as though it seems.’

‘I agree with Uncle, Fíli,’ Kíli said. ‘And anyway, what can we win off her that we will have use of in the Shire? We won’t even need boots there!’ 

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the young dwarf as Thorin stepped forward to support Frodo with a ready hand while he clambered into his saddle. When he sat securely on top of his pony, he smiled gratefully down at the King.

Dís looked up at her sons. ‘Let’s make a deal,’ she said with a fond smile. ‘If you don’t reach the caravan before dark, then you’re obligated to return for your Uncle’s wedding and stay for at least a fortnight afterwards.’

‘And if we reach the caravan – which we will,’ Fíli replied with a wink at his brother and Frodo. ‘Then we’ll stay for at least a _month_ after Bilbo’s and Uncle’s wedding.’

Dís laughed loudly, a deep laugh that shook her shoulders. ‘Then you better get going if you want to win that bet.’

Fíli and Kíli waved with a grin and turned their ponies around. Frodo’s steady old animal lumbered after them through sheer force of habit. The young hobbit twisted around in his seat to shout back to the small company.

‘Goodbye, Thorin and Dís. Goodbye, Uncle Bilbo.’

Without thinking Bilbo took one step, then a couple more, keeping the same distance between himself and his nephew’s horse which was slowly making its way away from the mountain.

He raised his hand out towards Frodo in some kind of wave.

‘Goodbye.’

The last thing he saw was Frodo’s smile before the lad turned his back to him, willing his pony to go faster to catch up to his two friends.

As Bilbo dropped his hand down to his side, it was caught by a larger one, the warmth of it seeping into his suddenly cold skin.

‘They’ll reach the caravan today,’ Thorin murmured. ‘They’ll travel with it along a safe road, and Frodo will write you a letter as soon as they arrive at Bag End.’

The calm and even voice did a little bit to loosen his shoulders and unknit his brow. ‘I know.’

The two of them stood there together in silence, watching the three small figures moving steadily away from them

Bilbo cleared his throat of any lingering emotion, took a deep breath and finally turned around. Hand in hand, he and Thorin made their way slowly back to the entrance of Erebor where Dís was chatting with a couple of guards.

Thorin’s thumb caressed up and down on Bilbo’s hand as they walked. ‘Are you going to work in your garden today?’

‘I think so.’ He looked up at the blue sky. ‘If this weather holds.’

Thorin hummed low in his throat and nodded. ‘But we’ll have lunch together?’

Bilbo turned his head and smiled up at Thorin. ‘Of course, we will,’ he said before gazing back at the mountain standing proudly in front of them.

The spring sun had brought out even more fireweeds, their purple and green colours lending a cheery look to the kingdom of Erebor.

Before he had arrived all those months ago, Bilbo would never have believed that anything at all could grow here among the rocks. Never believed that flowers had any place among the stone. But fireweeds were tough, little things. 

They endured through it all, Bilbo thought with a small nod. He felt the easy brush of Thorin’s arm against his shoulder as they entered through the door to their mountain home.

 

X—X

 

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has read, kudos'ed, and commented. For a first time writer of fan fiction, the response has been absolutely overwhelming, and the kind comments and encouragement both here and on my [tumblr](http://hildyj.tumblr.com/) have brought a huge smile to my face!  
> And a special thanks to [Coww](http://shamingcows.tumblr.com/) and [Radio](http://radiorcrist.tumblr.com/) for being inspired by my fic to create such wonderful pieces of art.


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